Evacuation work was going on as cars crowded onto the bridges leading out of the city. Warnings were issued of unstable ground, that residual quakes might follow the initial event. The mayor in a bid to save himself from potential harm, was one of the first to leave.
Miller hadn't managed to stop the blimp from getting away, but as a surprise concession, he found an unconscious Bullock behind several crates in the hangar. Upon waking, Bullock didn't recall how he'd got there, all he remembered was meeting Hugo Strange together with a couple of Talons.
Due to the effect of the quake, part of the not-yet-opened Iceberg Lounge caved in. The rubble had cracked the huge centerpiece that held a frozen Edward Nygma. Penguin had returned with Zsasz to find him gone - how devastated was Oswald, perhaps more for the loss of his nemesis, than the partial destruction of his club.
Tabitha Galavan had barely escaped falling rubble, but it wasn't her that she now worried about. She had sent Selina Kyle to get the sample of Venom, and Selina had not returned. She was still out there, possibly harmed by the quake, possibly unable to return. Tabitha set out to look for her.
The swat team had entered the broadcasting station after the event of the quake. The effects of the quake had been less severe in the main city than in the more northern part, especially in the vicinity of the Narrows. Apart from some structural cracks and crumbling ceiling, the broadcasting station, together with other the buildings nearby stayed mostly intact. Jerome Valeska however, had already made his escape by the time of their entry. All they found was his female accomplice, hit on the head by rubble and sent to a vastly shorthanded Gotham General for recovery.
About half of the patients at Gotham General had been sent out into the great exodus of vehicles departing Gotham City. The only ones that were left behind were the immobile patients - among them, Barbara Kean lay on her bed, paralyzed from the waist down by the bullet left behind by Zsasz. She'd been scheduled for surgery, but with all that had occurred, her appointment would be indefinitely delayed.
Waylon Jones and Lucius Fox had parted ways shortly after crashing Lucius' Ford into the old radio tower. From there, Lucius made a long trek through perilous territory where the enhanced effect of the quake had been most severe. Almost the whole of the Narrows was covered in rubble. On his trek back to the main city, he found a group of beleaguered survivors who decided to follow him to where they might get help.
Gordon and the rest of the police force made themselves busy with rescue efforts. Thankfully the G.C.P.D continued to stand strong through it all, and none of the cops had been hurt by the quake. Hearing from Miller and Bullock was a great relief, and even more when Harper and Bill returned with several men and women in their custody. It was strongly suspect that those men and women were part of the elusive society named the Court of Owls, also believed to be partially responsible for the state that Gotham now found itself in. They would be made to answer for their crimes in court.
Jervis Tetch never got that hatch opened. He waited till the quake had calmed before escaping. The snarls from the basement had quietened down even before the quake had ended. Tetch never got to find out who exactly was down there, but he was fairly certain that they'd all be dead in there.
As for the blimp, it remained in the air for a while. The insanity gas that Jerome Valeska had warned of was never discharged. Instead, they found an unconscious Johnathan Crane on the rooftop of the G.C.P.D, a long severed cable attached to his waist - almost like he'd been lowered down from the sky. A box of gaseous canisters lay beside him, a note attached that read "Do not open."
Close to dawn, the blimp came down. It settled on the outskirts of the city and was found empty, apart from a single black ski mask. Miller had sworn that Crane had escaped into the sky on that blimp, but he couldn't explain how Crane had ended up on the rooftop of the G.C.P.D, or how the blimp had landed itself. Perhaps there was a second party on that blimp, one that belonged to that ski mask. One that had long departed the blimp.
Friday 22 June 2018
Thursday 21 June 2018
Chapter 50
In an attempt to save the cop from getting his face smashed in, Bruce, with a black ski mask obscuring his face, had leapt onto Johnathan Crane, pummeling his fists onto Crane's temples in order to subdue him. But Crane released a plume of his special formula gas into Bruce's face before he could dodge the attack - and the fear toxin swiftly entered his lungs, invading his bloodstream and then his mind.
The world darkened around him. He was still aware that he was in the hangar, but it did not look the same. There was something evil... sinister, lurking in every corner of the building. He found himself seized with the same fear that had tormented him in that cave so many years ago. And as before - dozens of demonic bats began to soar towards him, clawing at him belligerently with the intent to gorge out his eyes. Instinctively, he covered his face, hoping in desperation that they would depart.
Without warning, a firm kick into his middle was added to his misery, causing him to crumble to the ground. The bats continued their attacks - but deep within his mind, he began to realise that something was off. When he'd fallen into the cave, he'd been all alone. The solitude of the situation had been a huge factor in the trauma of the event, the sense of being alone made him feel most vulnerable. The bats had swarmed him, and they'd terrified him, but there'd been no one present to send him a kick in the guts.
He took his hands off his face. The screeching bats and their razor sharp claws began to flicker. In those moments absent of the demonic bats, he saw Johnathan Crane enter into the gondola and lock the door. It dawned on him then that he must have been hit by a hallucinogen of some kind. It proved to be a challenge to separate falsehood from reality. Stumbling drunkenly towards the gondola, he managed to grasp a loose cable just as the blimp began to rise off the ground.
Gun shots were fired in the midst of the screeching of the bats. He couldn't tell if he was hallucinating the shots or if there were actual bullets hitting the chassis of the gondola. Between glimpses of the cable he that he was clinging to, and the rising blimp, he saw himself back in the alley, the blood of his parents' on his hands. He heard himself screaming in agony as he felt himself die in that alley with them. But in this twisted reality, the dead do not stay dead.
Both Martha and Thomas Wayne rose up from their slain states - their bodies already in the process of decompose. They glared at him from the worm filled sockets where their eyes used to sit. "Vengeance for our blood," they chanted. "Vengeance for our blood."
"I'm sorry I couldn't save you," he shouted into the wind.
"You've failed us," said his father, towering over him. A rotted finger pointed at him. "You did not kill M Malone. You did not avenge us."
"M Malone wasn't completely to blame. It was the people who hired him. It was the corruption. It was the city. The city turned him into what he was!" All that he'd kept locked inside him spilled out in torrents. He recollected everything he'd gone through to track down his parents' killer, only to put the gun down and walk away from him. "But I vow that I will stop it. I will end the corruption. I will end the crime. I won't let anyone else suffer the hurt that I've suffered."
His father went silent. He looked at him thoughtfully and gradually, his irises reappeared. The rot receded. Flesh returned to his skin. Bruce saw that the same had happened with his mother. They began to look exactly like how he remembered them to be. And they gazed lovingly at him from his place in the sky - he looked down. He saw that he was still clinging to the cable that was flapping freely in the wind - soaring high above Gotham City.
When he turned back to his parents, they'd already gone. All that was left was the vow that he had made. And Jonathan Crane holed up in the gondola.
With a heave, he began swinging himself on the cable. Further and further. He could see Crane operating the blimp, unaware of the stranger that hung to the back of the gondola. Just a little more. Just a little further. And with a huge lurch, he let go of the cable, smashed right through the window, and landed right behind Crane.
Crane was taken by surprise, not expecting to encounter anyone so high in the sky. Bruce swept a leg under his, and the inmate tumbled to the ground. Slamming fists into his temples, Crane was finally rendered unconscious.
A loud rumble cut through the land below. Bruce peered out the windows, only to see a couple of buildings crumbling. Dust clouds pluming into the night sky. Electrical cables shorted, they sparked and faded. Then an eerie darkness swept through the land.
The quake had occurred. He wasn't able to stop it. But he did prevent whatever Crane intended to do. He picked up a canister from the box that Crane had carried with him. Whatever was in that can... Bruce could only figure would be better in the canister than out of it.
The Court of Owls, the League of Shadows, and everyone else who was contributing to the creation of career criminals like M Malone - they all would need to be sought out, and stopped.
He would be Gotham's cure. He would bring the dream of a better Gotham that his parents once had for the city. That decision had already been made for him as he clung to that blimp.
A decision that he would carry with him the rest of his life.
Monday 18 June 2018
Chapter 49
Jervis Tetch was the final runaway inmate to reach his destination. It was the address of a home, though the home seemed to be completely abandoned, apart from a paper pad on a desk, next to a phone. The top piece of paper had been torn off, leaving just impressions of what had been written there before. Tetch turned on a nearby lamp and read out what looked to be a second address. He memorized it quickly. That address wasn't far from where he was.
He followed it to a construction site. Apart from the frame of what had been set up, the dual front loaders that stood at its entrance sat there unmanned. Within the half constructed building however was a large hatch on the ground. Tetch tried to pull it open, but to no avail. The thing was locked up tight, possibly from the inside.
He noticed, however, an air vent that led up from the hatch to the half constructed wall that surrounded the hatch. "Oooh, do I spy a vent for air? Could there be people down there?" A cross grill blocked him from directly accessing the vent, but air was getting sucked in from there. He figured releasing the canister right in front of the grill would be enough.
Carefully, he unlocked the canister and let the scarlet gas leak down to the basement. He did it with a laugh. Then he listened carefully to sounds emitted via the vent. Just like the subject in Crane's lab, he began hearing a mesh of snarls, screams and things getting tossed about and smashed.
And then a low rumble came his way, shaking the earth under his feet. The partially constructed walls began to come down, like a kid's lego set. Tetch leapt out of harm's way just in time. The rest of Gotham was shaking too, and the ground was visibly swaying.
"Get out of the building!" yelled Gordon, just as slabs of concrete began to come down all over the station. The majority of the force exited the G.C.P.D in moments. The quake had started while they were watching the live stream of Jerome on the air. He was still on the air when they'd left. He'd mentioned something about puppets and puppeteers. It would seem that he was taken by surprise as much as they were. But what was that about insanity gas? And the timing of the quake - it all seemed too huge of a coincidence.
Shortly after Waylon and Lucius had returned to the tower, they began feeling a bit of a rumble. Suddenly, the tower came alive, a clear beeping sound from within, and then what seemed to be a sonic blast getting sent into the ground, enhancing the strength of the quake. It shook trees, showering their leaves down around both Waylon and Lucius.
"We need to get into that tower!" yelled Lucius.
Waylon nodded. "I'll go get a rock," he offered.
"Actually, I have one better," he turned to look at his car. His car was bouncing around on the earth from all the quaking - natural and unnatural. He figured he might still be able to drive it in one single direction.
Waylon obliged almost immediately. Both men walked over and just Lucius. got into the car. For a while, all the swaying felt surreal - like he was in a theme park with his vehicle shaking in a controlled environment. But as Lucius reared the engine, it brought him back to earth. Waylon handed him one of the large rocks he had tossed earlier, and Lucius it used to wedge the accelerator down.
"Here goes nothing.." he muttered, releasing the brakes. With a jolt, the car lurched forward, and Lucius opened the door, rolling himself out before the smash. With a loud crash, sparks flew everywhere on impact, and the sound of electrical energy bursting crackled all around them. The car's front bonnet was crushed, but its wheels still kept turning. It'd landed itself through the gate and onto the tower, where the aged structure proved to be unable to bear the strength of the car. With a final sonic blast through the ground, the earth began to split apart, Waylon and Lucius on one side, and the cliff from which they'd come, on the other side. The car kept going. Lucius could see the tower weakening and bending.
With a high-pitched creaked, the tower finally gave way, and was overrun by the still moving car., sending both the vehicle and the tower, flying off a cliff, out into the sea. Lucius listened carefully. The sonic blasts had stopped. The original quake itself was fading quickly.
Then it dawned on them - they'd stopped the plans of the Court of Owls. The tower was down - although the extent of damages to the city had yet had to be determined, at least it wasn't going to be worse.
He followed it to a construction site. Apart from the frame of what had been set up, the dual front loaders that stood at its entrance sat there unmanned. Within the half constructed building however was a large hatch on the ground. Tetch tried to pull it open, but to no avail. The thing was locked up tight, possibly from the inside.
He noticed, however, an air vent that led up from the hatch to the half constructed wall that surrounded the hatch. "Oooh, do I spy a vent for air? Could there be people down there?" A cross grill blocked him from directly accessing the vent, but air was getting sucked in from there. He figured releasing the canister right in front of the grill would be enough.
Carefully, he unlocked the canister and let the scarlet gas leak down to the basement. He did it with a laugh. Then he listened carefully to sounds emitted via the vent. Just like the subject in Crane's lab, he began hearing a mesh of snarls, screams and things getting tossed about and smashed.
And then a low rumble came his way, shaking the earth under his feet. The partially constructed walls began to come down, like a kid's lego set. Tetch leapt out of harm's way just in time. The rest of Gotham was shaking too, and the ground was visibly swaying.
"Get out of the building!" yelled Gordon, just as slabs of concrete began to come down all over the station. The majority of the force exited the G.C.P.D in moments. The quake had started while they were watching the live stream of Jerome on the air. He was still on the air when they'd left. He'd mentioned something about puppets and puppeteers. It would seem that he was taken by surprise as much as they were. But what was that about insanity gas? And the timing of the quake - it all seemed too huge of a coincidence.
Shortly after Waylon and Lucius had returned to the tower, they began feeling a bit of a rumble. Suddenly, the tower came alive, a clear beeping sound from within, and then what seemed to be a sonic blast getting sent into the ground, enhancing the strength of the quake. It shook trees, showering their leaves down around both Waylon and Lucius.
"We need to get into that tower!" yelled Lucius.
Waylon nodded. "I'll go get a rock," he offered.
"Actually, I have one better," he turned to look at his car. His car was bouncing around on the earth from all the quaking - natural and unnatural. He figured he might still be able to drive it in one single direction.
Waylon obliged almost immediately. Both men walked over and just Lucius. got into the car. For a while, all the swaying felt surreal - like he was in a theme park with his vehicle shaking in a controlled environment. But as Lucius reared the engine, it brought him back to earth. Waylon handed him one of the large rocks he had tossed earlier, and Lucius it used to wedge the accelerator down.
"Here goes nothing.." he muttered, releasing the brakes. With a jolt, the car lurched forward, and Lucius opened the door, rolling himself out before the smash. With a loud crash, sparks flew everywhere on impact, and the sound of electrical energy bursting crackled all around them. The car's front bonnet was crushed, but its wheels still kept turning. It'd landed itself through the gate and onto the tower, where the aged structure proved to be unable to bear the strength of the car. With a final sonic blast through the ground, the earth began to split apart, Waylon and Lucius on one side, and the cliff from which they'd come, on the other side. The car kept going. Lucius could see the tower weakening and bending.
With a high-pitched creaked, the tower finally gave way, and was overrun by the still moving car., sending both the vehicle and the tower, flying off a cliff, out into the sea. Lucius listened carefully. The sonic blasts had stopped. The original quake itself was fading quickly.
Then it dawned on them - they'd stopped the plans of the Court of Owls. The tower was down - although the extent of damages to the city had yet had to be determined, at least it wasn't going to be worse.
Sunday 17 June 2018
Chapter 48
With a static flicker, Jerome Valeska had himself telecasted on all channels at the same time. He grinned wide, "Well well well... hello there to you Gotham City! It's your favorite buddy o' pal, Jerome Valeska, here to save you from your mundane lives."
Getting into the station was marvelously easy - with hardly a person in sight to stop both Meryl and him from entering, and everything set up just perfectly for his specific usage. Not that he'd have a lot of trouble otherwise, but making it this easy did sorta take the fun out of things.
There'd been a card left for him beside the microphone, clearly a script to follow. Jerome picked up the card and read off it for a while, "I have hijacked every channel getting broadcasted in Gotham to bring you this very important announcement: Wherever you are right now, be it at home, in the office or in transit, you will soon bear witness to a great reckoning. Justice will soon befall the city like..." Jerome stopped reading. "Boring!" he declared and tossed the card aside. "Folks out there, you know what's really going on? Someone's trying to play us all like puppets, yours truly included. But who likes to be a puppet? Do you?"
The muffled sound of sirens began sounding from outside the building. The cavalry had arrived, but they wouldn't be getting in. Not too soon at least. Meryl had barricaded the exit with any and every piece of furniture that she could find. Every other door leading up to where he was at was locked tight too.
"The real question here is who is the puppeteer?" Jerome continued. "Who's put me in this station to keep you all occupied while you get sprayed by insanity gas?" He looked directly into the camera, and spoke quite purposefully. "Yes you've heard me, you'll all be sprayed by insanity gas in just moments. Trust me, I've seen its effects, it's not nice at all."
The sound of a loud-hailer erupted from outside the station. It called for his name, asked him to come out. Warned him not try anything foolish.
"If I were you, I'd start running." He paused, scratching his chin in thought. "Now you'd probably ask why Jerome, why are you offering a warning when you could easily see this through and claim the handiwork as your own. I'll tell you why... because I don't want to be a puppet. If I destroy Gotham, it'll be under my terms, nobody else's."
An explosion erupted at the outer doors, Jerome knew the cops were getting close.
"The people responsible for all this though..." he laughed as he spoke. "You thought the joke was on all of us, but guess what?" Pulling the Joker card out of his sleeve and showing it to the camera, Jerome grinned out the side of the card. "No good magician ever forgets the card up his sleeve."
Just then, a great rumble rolled and began shaking every wall, every unsecured furniture. Powdered plaster rained down from the ceiling.
"Uh oh..." he mumbled, looking up at the ceiling. Meryl peered at him from behind the camera she was using to film him. But as the rumbling got worse, entire slabs loosened from the ceiling, and began crashing down on the ground. One of those pieces fell on Meryl.
Jerome hurried below the desk he was seated at as more rubble fell all around him. He wondered then if the quake was part of Bobby's plan.
All over Gotham, every mall broadcasting Jerome's telecast, and every home with a television on had its viewers plastered to the screens. They'd initially hesitated when he spoke of the insanity gas. Who knew when Jerome Valeska would ever be serious about his threats? But one by one, the panic began to set in, and people ran out into the streets, tossing the bare minimum into their vehicles and rearing up their engines.
In a short time, Jerome Valeska managed to flood Gotham's streets with both vehicle and pedestrian. Fingers were pointed at the gold and red blimp in the sky, the greatest suspect for a gas attack that was threatened by Jerome himself. Screams rang out as people fled away from the blimp.
But screams were not enough to cover the great rumble that rang throughout Gotham. Buildings quivered at their core. As unprepared for such a shaking as Gotham was, the glass windows were first to go; shattering in place, razor sharp shards raining down on the public. The pieces hit random pedestrians, some causing anywhere from minor to major injuries. Cracks started to creep their way through the concrete. Buildings swayed from side to side, and escaping cars smashed into each other as potholes began to appear at various parts of the roads. Wires tore. Ceilings came down.
And still the screaming went on - peppered with cries of anguish. Gotham was in a mess, maybe more than it'd ever been before.
Getting into the station was marvelously easy - with hardly a person in sight to stop both Meryl and him from entering, and everything set up just perfectly for his specific usage. Not that he'd have a lot of trouble otherwise, but making it this easy did sorta take the fun out of things.
There'd been a card left for him beside the microphone, clearly a script to follow. Jerome picked up the card and read off it for a while, "I have hijacked every channel getting broadcasted in Gotham to bring you this very important announcement: Wherever you are right now, be it at home, in the office or in transit, you will soon bear witness to a great reckoning. Justice will soon befall the city like..." Jerome stopped reading. "Boring!" he declared and tossed the card aside. "Folks out there, you know what's really going on? Someone's trying to play us all like puppets, yours truly included. But who likes to be a puppet? Do you?"
The muffled sound of sirens began sounding from outside the building. The cavalry had arrived, but they wouldn't be getting in. Not too soon at least. Meryl had barricaded the exit with any and every piece of furniture that she could find. Every other door leading up to where he was at was locked tight too.
"The real question here is who is the puppeteer?" Jerome continued. "Who's put me in this station to keep you all occupied while you get sprayed by insanity gas?" He looked directly into the camera, and spoke quite purposefully. "Yes you've heard me, you'll all be sprayed by insanity gas in just moments. Trust me, I've seen its effects, it's not nice at all."
The sound of a loud-hailer erupted from outside the station. It called for his name, asked him to come out. Warned him not try anything foolish.
"If I were you, I'd start running." He paused, scratching his chin in thought. "Now you'd probably ask why Jerome, why are you offering a warning when you could easily see this through and claim the handiwork as your own. I'll tell you why... because I don't want to be a puppet. If I destroy Gotham, it'll be under my terms, nobody else's."
An explosion erupted at the outer doors, Jerome knew the cops were getting close.
"The people responsible for all this though..." he laughed as he spoke. "You thought the joke was on all of us, but guess what?" Pulling the Joker card out of his sleeve and showing it to the camera, Jerome grinned out the side of the card. "No good magician ever forgets the card up his sleeve."
Just then, a great rumble rolled and began shaking every wall, every unsecured furniture. Powdered plaster rained down from the ceiling.
"Uh oh..." he mumbled, looking up at the ceiling. Meryl peered at him from behind the camera she was using to film him. But as the rumbling got worse, entire slabs loosened from the ceiling, and began crashing down on the ground. One of those pieces fell on Meryl.
Jerome hurried below the desk he was seated at as more rubble fell all around him. He wondered then if the quake was part of Bobby's plan.
All over Gotham, every mall broadcasting Jerome's telecast, and every home with a television on had its viewers plastered to the screens. They'd initially hesitated when he spoke of the insanity gas. Who knew when Jerome Valeska would ever be serious about his threats? But one by one, the panic began to set in, and people ran out into the streets, tossing the bare minimum into their vehicles and rearing up their engines.
In a short time, Jerome Valeska managed to flood Gotham's streets with both vehicle and pedestrian. Fingers were pointed at the gold and red blimp in the sky, the greatest suspect for a gas attack that was threatened by Jerome himself. Screams rang out as people fled away from the blimp.
But screams were not enough to cover the great rumble that rang throughout Gotham. Buildings quivered at their core. As unprepared for such a shaking as Gotham was, the glass windows were first to go; shattering in place, razor sharp shards raining down on the public. The pieces hit random pedestrians, some causing anywhere from minor to major injuries. Cracks started to creep their way through the concrete. Buildings swayed from side to side, and escaping cars smashed into each other as potholes began to appear at various parts of the roads. Wires tore. Ceilings came down.
And still the screaming went on - peppered with cries of anguish. Gotham was in a mess, maybe more than it'd ever been before.
Wednesday 13 June 2018
Chapter 47
Harper and Bill made their way down the hatch. It was at minimum, a five-storey drop into the ground down a solid tunnel, a ladder secured to the side. There were LED lights attached to the sides, but without knowing where the controls were hidden, they could only depend on torches to light the way down.
At the base of the descent, there lay a horizontally sealed solid-steel submarine door with a steel jamb. "Hold onto this," said Bill, handing Harper his torch. She took it from him, and he began putting his weight into the jamb. It budged like three-inches before hitting an obstruction in the mechanics. With a large heave, he attempted to turn it again, but it wouldn't budge beyond those three-inches. "Someone's down there, I'm certain of it," he said. "They've locked it from the inside. Unfortunately we'll need a blow torch and a few hours to get them out."
"Damn it..." said Harper, reaching for her phone to report on the situation.
"Wait. Don't call home yet. There's something that we haven't tried." Bill began climbing back out the hole.
Curious, she followed after him. He left the building, and began circling it, all the way to the back. There, they found the vent that had coincidentally been left open. Bill burst out into laughter at the sight for he knew exactly how he'd get those individuals out. "Dial someone from SWAT, Harper. Get them to bring us a smoke bomb."
Harper raised a brow at the idea, but she did what he requested anyway.
About an hour later, Harper's contact arrived on the scene. He had on him a suitcase with several forms of non-lethal explosives, among them, the smoke bomb that Bill had requested for. The cop picked it up, scaled up the wall, and dropped it into the vent.
Then the three of them returned to the open hatch and waited patiently with weapons un-holstered.
After sometime, the steel jamb began to crank open all on its own. It wound all the way around and swung open, releasing a puff of smoke that wafted through the tunnel. Breaking through the smoke - a steel cage of sorts, moving rapidly from the base of the tunnel to where they were standing. Harper reasoned that it was some kind of an elevator, operated from basement. In the cage stood Gilbert Sionis, his wife Melody, and two other men in fairly expensive looking suits. They gasped at the three officers, staring them down with pistols.
"Get out of there," Bill demanded firmly. "Put your hands up."
They complied readily, exiting the steel cage before raising up their hands.
"Who else is down there?" Harper inquired.
"About three more," replied Gilbert Sionis. "We came up because it was hard to breathe through the smoke."
Harper chortled. "That's the whole point. Is Harvey Bullock down there?"
All four individuals shook their heads.
"It'll be happening soon," said Gilbert nervously, looking at the door.
"What will?" asked Bill.
The four members of high society exchanged glances. "Look, let's air out the place a little bit, and then you can come down with us. There's room enough for three more."
Harper asked a little more intensely, "What will happen soon? Why were you battened up down there?'
"A quake..." replied Melody. "Come down with us, quickly, we'll explain more there." She took a step back into the cage.
"Don't you dare take another step!" threatened Harper. It froze Melody on the spot.
That was when they heard the first rumble...
Johnathan Crane walked into the hangar with the box of cannisters in his hands and gazed up at the unmanned blimp. He hadn't ridden one before, but he was fairly confident he'd get the hang of it in just a matter of time. Stepping into the rider's seat, he found a list of instructions for getting the blimp into the air - which made it all the easier.
Placing the box on the floor inside the gondola, he proceeded to warm up the engine. But the door to the hangar swung open, and one of those pesky policemen entered, pointing a gun at him. "Stop it right there Johnathan Crane! You'll come out with your hands up."
Johnathan turned towards the cop through the windows of the gondola, then all at once he flopped down onto the floor, obscured by the chassis.
"Get up, Johnathan Crane!" instructed the cop. But Scarecrow would not respond. The cop took one step forward, then a second step. "I'm warning you!"
The cop walked up to the door, reaching for the knob when the door swung open hard enough to knock the cop off his feet. Crane burst out, a metal cannister in his hands, and he slammed it into the man's face. The cop tried to kick him off, but Crane slammed that cannister again. There was the risk of the cannister bursting, but there was nothing greater than Crane wanted in that moment but to see the man's face crushed to a pulp. He raised his arms to slam the man a third time...
But a dark shadow came over him, falling directly on his person. The dark shadow pummeled what looked like fists into his temples, causing the world to spin. Crane didn't know what he'd been hit with, but there was always the chance that even shadows have fears. Hitting the trigger under his sleeve, a cloud of gas burst out at whatever it was, pinning him down.
The pumelling stopped, and the weight holding Crane down lifted. He sat up, trying to slow the spinning in his head. As it did, the shadowy figure before him took more of the resemblance of a mere man in a dark suit and a ski mask. The gas was already working its magic - the man in the ski mask was groaning, holding his hands over his face. Crane got up, gave the man a firm kick in the middle. He buckled.
The cop, just a foot away, was bleeding down the temples but already coming to, staring at him angrily. Crane knew if he wanted to leave, he should do it soon. So he quickly loosened the cables, bounded back into the gondola and locked the door. Following the instructions at the driver's seat, he started up the engine.
The cop was at the door, slamming on it, yelling threats that he could not hear.
The blimp began to rise into the air, the skylight open wide, welcoming him into the skies. The cop began shooting at the gondola, and Crane rolled away from the driver's seat. A bullet shattered one of the side windows, and three more pierced holes into the chassis, but none of them did anything to prevent Crane's escape.
A cold gust of wind met him as the blimp rose high above the hangar.
In the distance, Crane heard a low rumble.
At the base of the descent, there lay a horizontally sealed solid-steel submarine door with a steel jamb. "Hold onto this," said Bill, handing Harper his torch. She took it from him, and he began putting his weight into the jamb. It budged like three-inches before hitting an obstruction in the mechanics. With a large heave, he attempted to turn it again, but it wouldn't budge beyond those three-inches. "Someone's down there, I'm certain of it," he said. "They've locked it from the inside. Unfortunately we'll need a blow torch and a few hours to get them out."
"Damn it..." said Harper, reaching for her phone to report on the situation.
"Wait. Don't call home yet. There's something that we haven't tried." Bill began climbing back out the hole.
Curious, she followed after him. He left the building, and began circling it, all the way to the back. There, they found the vent that had coincidentally been left open. Bill burst out into laughter at the sight for he knew exactly how he'd get those individuals out. "Dial someone from SWAT, Harper. Get them to bring us a smoke bomb."
Harper raised a brow at the idea, but she did what he requested anyway.
About an hour later, Harper's contact arrived on the scene. He had on him a suitcase with several forms of non-lethal explosives, among them, the smoke bomb that Bill had requested for. The cop picked it up, scaled up the wall, and dropped it into the vent.
Then the three of them returned to the open hatch and waited patiently with weapons un-holstered.
After sometime, the steel jamb began to crank open all on its own. It wound all the way around and swung open, releasing a puff of smoke that wafted through the tunnel. Breaking through the smoke - a steel cage of sorts, moving rapidly from the base of the tunnel to where they were standing. Harper reasoned that it was some kind of an elevator, operated from basement. In the cage stood Gilbert Sionis, his wife Melody, and two other men in fairly expensive looking suits. They gasped at the three officers, staring them down with pistols.
"Get out of there," Bill demanded firmly. "Put your hands up."
They complied readily, exiting the steel cage before raising up their hands.
"Who else is down there?" Harper inquired.
"About three more," replied Gilbert Sionis. "We came up because it was hard to breathe through the smoke."
Harper chortled. "That's the whole point. Is Harvey Bullock down there?"
All four individuals shook their heads.
"It'll be happening soon," said Gilbert nervously, looking at the door.
"What will?" asked Bill.
The four members of high society exchanged glances. "Look, let's air out the place a little bit, and then you can come down with us. There's room enough for three more."
Harper asked a little more intensely, "What will happen soon? Why were you battened up down there?'
"A quake..." replied Melody. "Come down with us, quickly, we'll explain more there." She took a step back into the cage.
"Don't you dare take another step!" threatened Harper. It froze Melody on the spot.
That was when they heard the first rumble...
Johnathan Crane walked into the hangar with the box of cannisters in his hands and gazed up at the unmanned blimp. He hadn't ridden one before, but he was fairly confident he'd get the hang of it in just a matter of time. Stepping into the rider's seat, he found a list of instructions for getting the blimp into the air - which made it all the easier.
Placing the box on the floor inside the gondola, he proceeded to warm up the engine. But the door to the hangar swung open, and one of those pesky policemen entered, pointing a gun at him. "Stop it right there Johnathan Crane! You'll come out with your hands up."
Johnathan turned towards the cop through the windows of the gondola, then all at once he flopped down onto the floor, obscured by the chassis.
"Get up, Johnathan Crane!" instructed the cop. But Scarecrow would not respond. The cop took one step forward, then a second step. "I'm warning you!"
The cop walked up to the door, reaching for the knob when the door swung open hard enough to knock the cop off his feet. Crane burst out, a metal cannister in his hands, and he slammed it into the man's face. The cop tried to kick him off, but Crane slammed that cannister again. There was the risk of the cannister bursting, but there was nothing greater than Crane wanted in that moment but to see the man's face crushed to a pulp. He raised his arms to slam the man a third time...
But a dark shadow came over him, falling directly on his person. The dark shadow pummeled what looked like fists into his temples, causing the world to spin. Crane didn't know what he'd been hit with, but there was always the chance that even shadows have fears. Hitting the trigger under his sleeve, a cloud of gas burst out at whatever it was, pinning him down.
The pumelling stopped, and the weight holding Crane down lifted. He sat up, trying to slow the spinning in his head. As it did, the shadowy figure before him took more of the resemblance of a mere man in a dark suit and a ski mask. The gas was already working its magic - the man in the ski mask was groaning, holding his hands over his face. Crane got up, gave the man a firm kick in the middle. He buckled.
The cop, just a foot away, was bleeding down the temples but already coming to, staring at him angrily. Crane knew if he wanted to leave, he should do it soon. So he quickly loosened the cables, bounded back into the gondola and locked the door. Following the instructions at the driver's seat, he started up the engine.
The cop was at the door, slamming on it, yelling threats that he could not hear.
The blimp began to rise into the air, the skylight open wide, welcoming him into the skies. The cop began shooting at the gondola, and Crane rolled away from the driver's seat. A bullet shattered one of the side windows, and three more pierced holes into the chassis, but none of them did anything to prevent Crane's escape.
A cold gust of wind met him as the blimp rose high above the hangar.
In the distance, Crane heard a low rumble.
Friday 8 June 2018
Chapter 46
Smith got on the line with Gordon not long after the first call. "Jerome Valeska and the single female, they're getting out at Wesker and third. The other two are staying in the van. A cop car just caught up with us. What should we do?"
"Split up," ordered Jim without much thought at all. "Who knows the amount of damage Jerome Valeska can do there. Take the cops with you."
"Alright, I've let Miller know to follow the van and to keep you notified. I'll go after Jerome. Looks like he's headed for the Gotham Broadcasting station..." Muffled sounds of shifting ensued, like Smith's phone was placed into his pocket without the receiver being turned off. The sound of a car door being slammed shut. The engine revving and the car driving away. A gun getting cocked. And then the not too distant warning voice of Smith's, "Stop there! Take another step towards the station and be shot."
Jim continued to hold on to the line as he strained his ears to pick out what muffled dialogue followed. There seemed to be a rather lengthy exchange between both Jerome and the cops who'd stopped him in the street. The sound of visceral yelling erupted out of the blue, Jim couldn't tell who from. Two shots that rang through the air. Some shouting. A loud thud. More muffled dialogue and after the world went quiet on the other end, Smith's voice returned to the line. "I'm sorry sir. We've failed to apprehend Jerome Valeska. He tricked us... made us think he was going to be compliant, then he injected one of the cops with a red substance. It turned the cop mad. The guy tried to attack us - should I say he tried to claw at us."
"A red substance, you say?"
"Yeah. He left the syringe sticking out of the guy's throat. We had to wrestle the guy down, and this gave Jerome the opportunity to make his escape - which he did. And now he's disappeared into the station."
"Damn it..." cussed Gordon, though he wasn't exactly surprised. Jerome always did have those extra tricks up his sleeves. "Fine... follow him into the building, as far as you're able to. Keep me updated."
Jim could see another call waiting for him, it was flashing on line 2. He ended line 1 and switched over. It was Harper.
"Gordon, Bill and I managed to track down Bullock's phone. It's in a construction site belonging to Sionis' Design House - even though the building's like eighty percent up already. The doors weren't locked on entry. We found the phone in a room, all on its own. No Harvey here. There's nothing in this room, no furniture and the flooring's not even done. But there is a large wooden hatch on the floor, should we attempt to enter?"
"Yeah do that, but proceed with caution. Get Bill to go first, you back him up."
"Alright," she replied.
Line 3 was already blinking urgently. Gordon knew he'd be kept busy that day, but this was just one thing after the next. "I need to hang up now, Harper. Keep in touch."
"Will do."
He switched lines. He found Miller on Line 3.
"Detective, the van's stopped again in front of a blimp hangar. Johnathan Crane has exited, he's carrying a large box. Jervis Tetch is still inside the van, and he's about to move off. Who should I follow?"
Wiping a hand over his forehead, Jim debated the decision in his mind. He didn't want to lose either one of the two inmates, but he'd to choose.
"Sir, you'll have to decide quickly. Tetch is getting away already."
Jim hated the position he'd been put in. Just one of those getting away could prove disastrous. But the thought of Johnathan Crane with a large box of goodness-knows-what and given free reign over a blimp - that sounded like the more immediate danger. "Stay with Crane," he instructed. "Stop him by any means possible."
"Roger that sir," came Miller's voice. "Wish me luck!"
"Luck..." replied Jim flatly. The truth was he wished he was there himself, in Miller's place. But he knew he'd to have faith in the men under his charge. He'd never be able to be all places at once. Even though he hated waiting behind a desk for the phone to ring, it's the only shot at getting a few things done at one time.
He ended Line 3 and dialed the one final person who was left unaccounted for. Lucius Fox. The phone began to ring. Jim listened to the repeated tones, going over and over again. He wondered where Lucius could be. Last he'd heard, Lucius was headed for the Narrows, but he ought to have been back by then. No other lines were flashing then, so Jim decided to let Lucius' phone go on ringing. And it did... till the signal was suddenly cut off. Jim dialed him again, and this time, all he got was an error message from Lucius' service provider about the phone not being accessible. He didn't know what that meant for Lucius - if Harvey's disappearance wasn't enough...
"Hey Alvarez," he called over his colleague. Alvarez responded. "Can you try to ping Lucius' phone? We might have another missing agent."
It took five of the robed men to drag Waylon Jones up a cliff while he desperately struggled under his constraints. Lucius could tell that his energy was getting sapped by the end as he was struggling a lot less when they left him right at the edge - or perhaps he was merely afraid to fall. Lucius hadn't thought much of the croc-man, but now, he was the only potential friend he had in this entire affair.
The robed man who kept beside him since the tower, urged him to Waylon's side, instructed him to sit down, and two other men came to constrain him to Waylon's tangled chain net with two separate ropes. Lucius knew they were preparing him for his death, and logically, there'd be no reason to continue to be compliant. But he didn't think he'd a chance in hell to overpower this lot.
Coincidentally, his phone began to ring then. The men in robes perked up, and pointed to his pocket where his phone sat comfortably.
"Your friends are searching for you," said the man in the hood. "They don't know that you'll be dead soon."
Lucius didn't like that, he didn't like it at all. The truth was that he wasn't prepared to die, especially not in this manner - chained to a croc-man, at the edge of a cliff off the worst part of Gotham.
"Last chance," he offered. "Give me Bruce Wayne, and I may consider letting you go."
Beads of perspiration dripped off the side of Lucius' face. He knew Bruce's last known location was Gotham General, but he couldn't be sure if he was still there or if he'd left. He'd been reluctant to share even that, but he was close to caving.
As he considered his options, his gaze drifted over to Waylon. The man with the reptilian appearance stared back at him with a look of melancholy - the first sign of true human emotion from someone he wouldn't expect it from. He didn't know if the man could read his low opinion of being chained to him, but it sure felt that way.
"Choose now, before the world ends," said the man in the hood.
Ironically, something in those sad eyes gave him the determination to withhold what little he knew from the stranger. If the world was to end, why go out as a coward? He would keep his conscience clear down to the final second. "No," he said with newfound courage. "You won't get a thing out of me. You'll just have to find Bruce on your own."
Waylon's expression changed. He too seemed empowered by Lucius' sudden boldness. Both men turned to the man in the hood, who seemed a little more disappointed at these turn of events than they would've expected. "Toss them over," he instructed, turning away.
The phone still rang as the robed men pushed the both of them closer and closer to the edge. Lucius wedged his eyes shut, bracing himself for a painful end. He felt Waylon moving slightly, as though he was straining to look over the edge.
And all at once, gravity took over - the wind whistled swiftly through his ears and he felt the splash of salt water all around, encompassing them completely. The ringing stopped. For a moment, everything else stopped as they sunk like heavy stone.
Then Waylon began writhing through the chains. His struggle got more and more vicious - enough to jolt Lucius' eyes open. The croc-man had already managed to get his arms free, and was busy untangling his legs. But they were still sinking. Lucius looked up at the fading rays of light from the water's surface, what seemed an eternity away. The little oxygen in his lungs were threatening to disappear completely, and he thought about drowning. But Waylon Jones hadn't given up. In three ticks, his legs were free and he emerged from his constraints, leaving the weight of the chains and their attached ball bearings entirely attached to Lucius.
For a moment, the two men caught each other's glances - Lucius helpless and pleading for his life, Waylon, a free man, and considering going up to the surface for air. But that moment passed quickly, and Waylon swam downwards instead, tugging on the ropes that held Lucius down. They had been secured tightly. Holding the two ends of the rope, Waylon gnawed down on the fibers with his sharpened teeth. The ropes snapped in no time, and Waylon slipped an arm under Lucius' shoulders, swimming vertically upwards with speed unlike that of a regular man's, and broke through the surface with a huge splash.
The two men gasped for air as they looked above at the cliff from where they'd fallen. The robed men, and the man in the hood were gone, leaving them bobbing in the water all on their own. The two of them - they'd survived miraculously. "Those fools didn't know that I'm twice as strong underwater," explained Waylon, blinking reptilian eyes. "Indian Hill turned me into a freak, but this freak has just proved he can survive where no other man can."
For some reason, Lucius found that thought absolutely amusing. He burst out in laughter, feeling a surge of new joy, just for being alive. He gave Waylon a grateful pat on the shoulder. "You sure showed them!"
Waylon grinned proudly. "Now let's go back and ruin the plans of these twits."
"I'm with you a hundred percent."
"Split up," ordered Jim without much thought at all. "Who knows the amount of damage Jerome Valeska can do there. Take the cops with you."
"Alright, I've let Miller know to follow the van and to keep you notified. I'll go after Jerome. Looks like he's headed for the Gotham Broadcasting station..." Muffled sounds of shifting ensued, like Smith's phone was placed into his pocket without the receiver being turned off. The sound of a car door being slammed shut. The engine revving and the car driving away. A gun getting cocked. And then the not too distant warning voice of Smith's, "Stop there! Take another step towards the station and be shot."
Jim continued to hold on to the line as he strained his ears to pick out what muffled dialogue followed. There seemed to be a rather lengthy exchange between both Jerome and the cops who'd stopped him in the street. The sound of visceral yelling erupted out of the blue, Jim couldn't tell who from. Two shots that rang through the air. Some shouting. A loud thud. More muffled dialogue and after the world went quiet on the other end, Smith's voice returned to the line. "I'm sorry sir. We've failed to apprehend Jerome Valeska. He tricked us... made us think he was going to be compliant, then he injected one of the cops with a red substance. It turned the cop mad. The guy tried to attack us - should I say he tried to claw at us."
"A red substance, you say?"
"Yeah. He left the syringe sticking out of the guy's throat. We had to wrestle the guy down, and this gave Jerome the opportunity to make his escape - which he did. And now he's disappeared into the station."
"Damn it..." cussed Gordon, though he wasn't exactly surprised. Jerome always did have those extra tricks up his sleeves. "Fine... follow him into the building, as far as you're able to. Keep me updated."
Jim could see another call waiting for him, it was flashing on line 2. He ended line 1 and switched over. It was Harper.
"Gordon, Bill and I managed to track down Bullock's phone. It's in a construction site belonging to Sionis' Design House - even though the building's like eighty percent up already. The doors weren't locked on entry. We found the phone in a room, all on its own. No Harvey here. There's nothing in this room, no furniture and the flooring's not even done. But there is a large wooden hatch on the floor, should we attempt to enter?"
"Yeah do that, but proceed with caution. Get Bill to go first, you back him up."
"Alright," she replied.
Line 3 was already blinking urgently. Gordon knew he'd be kept busy that day, but this was just one thing after the next. "I need to hang up now, Harper. Keep in touch."
"Will do."
He switched lines. He found Miller on Line 3.
"Detective, the van's stopped again in front of a blimp hangar. Johnathan Crane has exited, he's carrying a large box. Jervis Tetch is still inside the van, and he's about to move off. Who should I follow?"
Wiping a hand over his forehead, Jim debated the decision in his mind. He didn't want to lose either one of the two inmates, but he'd to choose.
"Sir, you'll have to decide quickly. Tetch is getting away already."
Jim hated the position he'd been put in. Just one of those getting away could prove disastrous. But the thought of Johnathan Crane with a large box of goodness-knows-what and given free reign over a blimp - that sounded like the more immediate danger. "Stay with Crane," he instructed. "Stop him by any means possible."
"Roger that sir," came Miller's voice. "Wish me luck!"
"Luck..." replied Jim flatly. The truth was he wished he was there himself, in Miller's place. But he knew he'd to have faith in the men under his charge. He'd never be able to be all places at once. Even though he hated waiting behind a desk for the phone to ring, it's the only shot at getting a few things done at one time.
He ended Line 3 and dialed the one final person who was left unaccounted for. Lucius Fox. The phone began to ring. Jim listened to the repeated tones, going over and over again. He wondered where Lucius could be. Last he'd heard, Lucius was headed for the Narrows, but he ought to have been back by then. No other lines were flashing then, so Jim decided to let Lucius' phone go on ringing. And it did... till the signal was suddenly cut off. Jim dialed him again, and this time, all he got was an error message from Lucius' service provider about the phone not being accessible. He didn't know what that meant for Lucius - if Harvey's disappearance wasn't enough...
"Hey Alvarez," he called over his colleague. Alvarez responded. "Can you try to ping Lucius' phone? We might have another missing agent."
It took five of the robed men to drag Waylon Jones up a cliff while he desperately struggled under his constraints. Lucius could tell that his energy was getting sapped by the end as he was struggling a lot less when they left him right at the edge - or perhaps he was merely afraid to fall. Lucius hadn't thought much of the croc-man, but now, he was the only potential friend he had in this entire affair.
The robed man who kept beside him since the tower, urged him to Waylon's side, instructed him to sit down, and two other men came to constrain him to Waylon's tangled chain net with two separate ropes. Lucius knew they were preparing him for his death, and logically, there'd be no reason to continue to be compliant. But he didn't think he'd a chance in hell to overpower this lot.
Coincidentally, his phone began to ring then. The men in robes perked up, and pointed to his pocket where his phone sat comfortably.
"Your friends are searching for you," said the man in the hood. "They don't know that you'll be dead soon."
Lucius didn't like that, he didn't like it at all. The truth was that he wasn't prepared to die, especially not in this manner - chained to a croc-man, at the edge of a cliff off the worst part of Gotham.
"Last chance," he offered. "Give me Bruce Wayne, and I may consider letting you go."
Beads of perspiration dripped off the side of Lucius' face. He knew Bruce's last known location was Gotham General, but he couldn't be sure if he was still there or if he'd left. He'd been reluctant to share even that, but he was close to caving.
As he considered his options, his gaze drifted over to Waylon. The man with the reptilian appearance stared back at him with a look of melancholy - the first sign of true human emotion from someone he wouldn't expect it from. He didn't know if the man could read his low opinion of being chained to him, but it sure felt that way.
"Choose now, before the world ends," said the man in the hood.
Ironically, something in those sad eyes gave him the determination to withhold what little he knew from the stranger. If the world was to end, why go out as a coward? He would keep his conscience clear down to the final second. "No," he said with newfound courage. "You won't get a thing out of me. You'll just have to find Bruce on your own."
Waylon's expression changed. He too seemed empowered by Lucius' sudden boldness. Both men turned to the man in the hood, who seemed a little more disappointed at these turn of events than they would've expected. "Toss them over," he instructed, turning away.
The phone still rang as the robed men pushed the both of them closer and closer to the edge. Lucius wedged his eyes shut, bracing himself for a painful end. He felt Waylon moving slightly, as though he was straining to look over the edge.
And all at once, gravity took over - the wind whistled swiftly through his ears and he felt the splash of salt water all around, encompassing them completely. The ringing stopped. For a moment, everything else stopped as they sunk like heavy stone.
Then Waylon began writhing through the chains. His struggle got more and more vicious - enough to jolt Lucius' eyes open. The croc-man had already managed to get his arms free, and was busy untangling his legs. But they were still sinking. Lucius looked up at the fading rays of light from the water's surface, what seemed an eternity away. The little oxygen in his lungs were threatening to disappear completely, and he thought about drowning. But Waylon Jones hadn't given up. In three ticks, his legs were free and he emerged from his constraints, leaving the weight of the chains and their attached ball bearings entirely attached to Lucius.
For a moment, the two men caught each other's glances - Lucius helpless and pleading for his life, Waylon, a free man, and considering going up to the surface for air. But that moment passed quickly, and Waylon swam downwards instead, tugging on the ropes that held Lucius down. They had been secured tightly. Holding the two ends of the rope, Waylon gnawed down on the fibers with his sharpened teeth. The ropes snapped in no time, and Waylon slipped an arm under Lucius' shoulders, swimming vertically upwards with speed unlike that of a regular man's, and broke through the surface with a huge splash.
The two men gasped for air as they looked above at the cliff from where they'd fallen. The robed men, and the man in the hood were gone, leaving them bobbing in the water all on their own. The two of them - they'd survived miraculously. "Those fools didn't know that I'm twice as strong underwater," explained Waylon, blinking reptilian eyes. "Indian Hill turned me into a freak, but this freak has just proved he can survive where no other man can."
For some reason, Lucius found that thought absolutely amusing. He burst out in laughter, feeling a surge of new joy, just for being alive. He gave Waylon a grateful pat on the shoulder. "You sure showed them!"
Waylon grinned proudly. "Now let's go back and ruin the plans of these twits."
"I'm with you a hundred percent."
Chapter 45
The tinkering of a bell resounded as Selina stepped into an antique shop down Garner Lane. It was the only lead given to her by Tabitha, together with the name 'Bilco'. The owner of the store sat behind the counter, flipping through what looked to be a magazine of sorts through a pair of heavy degree glasses. "Yes?" he acknowledged her presence without even looking up. "Anything I can help you with?"
"I'm looking for Bilco, any idea where I might find him?"
The shop owner turned to her in freshly vested interest, lowering his glasses to end of his nose to observe her with raw sight. "How do you know this name?"
"I was given it from a ready buyer. Said Bilco's created a new drug. My buyer's interested to sample and possibly to purchase," Selina stated, lifting up the piece of paper on which the information had been scribbled.
He pushed his glasses back into place, subtly pointed to the staircase at the back of the shop, then slumped back in his seat, going directly back to his magazine as though there had been no exchange at all.
"Hm.. thank you," offered Selina anyway. She made her through the store and up the stairs. There was a door at the end of the staircase. She knocked once, then twice, before a voice came through it. It belonged to a female.
"Who's there?"
"Is Bilco in there?" Selina asked.
"Yes."
"Can I come in? I'm to retrieve a sample for my employer who's interested to buy."
"Who's your employer?"
"Tabitha Galavan."
A pregnant pause followed, long enough for Selina to wonder if the woman on the other side of the door had gone away, before the sound of a key being inserted into the door that stood between them, and the click of a lock disengaging. The door widened, and there stood before Selina a petite white woman just about her height, maybe a few years older than her, dressed up in a red jumper, blue jeans and large black rimmed glasses. She spread out her hand, offering it to Selina. "I'm Bilco," she introduced.
"Hey Bilco," replied Selina with a modest amount of admiration for what she'd heard Bilco had achieved - and that she was really a woman. She took that hand in hers and gave it a firm shake. "I'm Selina."
"Nice," Bilco replied, letting Selina into the apartment - which really looked more like a makeshift laboratory. A large bubbling chemistry set up occupied at least three quarters of the living room. A slept in mattress and a single table and chair occupied the rest. "I'm sorry, you'll have to stand."
"That's fine," said Selina, more curious about the contents in the apartment than offended by the lack of hospitality. "I don't plan on staying long anyway."
Bilco picked up a little lime-hued tincture from a wooden box on the table, and handed it to Selina. "There it is; my improvement on the drug named Viper. My version; I call it Venom. Tell your employer that she'll only get one shot. The next one is chargeable."
Selina held up the tincture as she carefully looked it over. "And you brewed up Venom all by yourself?"
"When I received the Viper formula, it was already dead close to distribution-ready. It took me some time... and many dead mice, to crack the final missing component. The resulting drug is the one that you're holding in your hands."
Narrowing an eye at Bilco, Selina had to ask, "And you're sure that this little thing is safe?"
Bilco nodded. "It's been tested on humans, and we haven't noticed any side effects yet. Of course note that it's still a work under progress. That's why I'm letting it go for half the price till a wider audience has sampled and nothing's happened to them as well."
Selina frowned. "That's a big risk for us to take."
"It's your choice. If you do take it up, I'd like to know the findings," Bilco offered, tucking her hands into her jumper pockets as she waited for a response.
"Fine, I'll talk to Tabitha about this and get back to you afterwards," replied Selina after some thought, then headed back down the stairs.
It was close to noon when Bruce arrived at the hangar. He had Alfred position himself on the rooftop of a nearby building, armed with a pair of binoculars and the transistor radio to inform him of impending danger. Between the last mission and this one, he'd politely requested Alfred to keep the channel silent, apart from emergencies. Alfred took it surprisingly well, agreeing to it quite readily.
Only when Alfred was in position did Bruce crack the lock on the only man-sized door leading into the warehouse and first make his entry.
Lindsey was right about the blimp - the gold and red balloon sat right in the middle of the large hall, tied down by six cables. A seemingly innocent enough sight, apart from what looked to be a number of ropes holding down a life-sized statue on the nose cone of the balloon. The statue, very much resembling a sleeping man in a trench coat and a hat, reaching out in both ways by outstretched arms - No, on closer inspection, the statue was an actual man! He was slumped over and held in place by the ropes that bound him to the blimp. And the man... he looked exactly like Harvey Bullock!
Taped to the door leading to the engine room of the blimp, Bruce found a note. He pulled it off the door and read it quickly, "Sending you the Captain of the G.C.P.D. Keep him strapped to the front to deter any attempts to shoot down the blimp."
Crushing the note within his palm, Bruce looked about for something sharp to sever the ropes. A tool rack of four axes offered that very function. And they sat just a short distance from the ropes that held down the blimp. He picked up one of the axes, and took it upon himself to scale the side of the blimp with the help of each support beam and suspension cable on the side of the blimp that offered him access to the sleeping Captain.
On arrival at the place the Captain was kept suspended, he began sawing away at the ropes that held him in place. Once or twice he thought about trying to wake the man. But there was always the risk Captain Bullock would wake to realise what was really going on, panic and struggle, causing the already loose ropes to loose their grip on him, causing him to fall a great distance to the ground and ultimately hurt himself. Bruce decided that it'd be much safer to leave him unaware, and instead, to tie a noose around his waist with recycled rope that had previously bound him. He would then lower the Captain to the ground with the noose slung around his middle.
As a concept all on its own, it sounded pretty much flawless. But it was quite another thing to try to execute the plan, especially with that bad shoulder of his. Instinctively, he relied more heavily on his other shoulder, but that only lent to a clumsy descent of Captain Bullock.
The Captain was midway to the ground when Alfred's voice rang clear over the radio hidden in his ear. "A van has just stopped outside the hangar, Master B. Someone's coming out, I think they're headed your way. Get out of there now!"
Bruce had heard Alfred, but Bullock was still on his way down to the ground. He couldn't just abandon the Captain. "I'll be out in a little while," he said, moving Bullock faster than before, groaning at each tug against his hurt shoulder.
"You've got to hurry up, Bruce! He's right outside."
Bullock had just hit the ground with a quiet thud when the door to the hangar opened.
Bruce fell completely silent, watching the scene from his perch above. How glad was he to have decided to lower Bullock to the side of the blimp facing away from the door. This would result in the Captain being obscured by the side of the gondola, and therefore not susceptible to what looked to be the Court's original plans.
Through the door walked in one of the escaped inmates.
Chapter 44
Lucius, Waylon, and a group of his followers gazed at the old tower, surrounded by a brand new thick stainless steel fence with barbed wire going all around. "We thought you would know of this," offered an old man in the crowd. "It was set up by a bunch of engineer-types surrounded by men in uniform and heavy rifles. We were instructed not to come near or get blown to high heavens."
"What? Those don't sound like standard law enforcement agents. If you'll permit me speculating here, maybe those men belonged to some other nefarious group, but were parading as agents," Lucius offered. The men and women exchanged glances, appearing to accept that as a probable fact.
"What do you think the tower is supposed to do?" asked Waylon.
"I can't tell, not till I get in."
Waylon bent to the ground, picked up a rock at his feet, and tossed it at the fence. The rock made the fence spark brightly and buzz with energy. "Hmm... an electrified fence." He looked about and found a rock the size of a dish, picked it up with two arms and tossed it at the fence. The light that was produced was a lot larger, and so was the sound of electrical humming. But the fence stood strong against the croc's attacks. His followers began to follow his lead, tossing stones at the fence, causing it to erupt in sparks each and every place it got hit.
"There must be an easier way in," said Lucius, breaking off from the others to study the fence at closer range. Already, he could see a locked gate with some kind of remote contraption and... what looked to be a camera. "Uh oh..."
"Uh oh?" asked Waylon.
"Don't panic now, but I think we've been spotted."
"Good!" declared Waylon, planting his feet in the ground as he turned around to the woods around them. "Let them come. I want to meet the people responsible for installing this trash in my forest!"
"Your forest?" Came a voice in the woods. A slim figure in a dark hood appeared on the scene, and beside him a number of men in dark robes leapt down from the trees to land silently next to him. "I should think not."
"And who do you think you are?" asked Waylon, unimpressed by the display.
The dark figure laughed, and slowly he lowered the hood to reveal a tanned skinned man with dark eyes and greying hair. "I'm your lord. You'd do well to bow before me."
A steel chained net surrounded by weighty ball bearings fell over Waylon, causing him to be trapped beneath. The croc-man angrily lashed out at the chains, but all his attempts only caused him to become even more entangled in the mesh. He roared under the weight of his constraints.
With two-to-three somersaults through the air, the men in robes landed right before Waylon's followers, katanas slicing through flesh and bone. They moved so smoothly and silently, they were almost invisible to the eye. A cry caught in Lucius' throat, his life flashing before his very eyes. He tried to back off the scene, but soon felt an arm wrapped around his back, the glint of a katana before his eyes. And all around him, the mangled bodies of all those who had followed. A sickness invaded the pit of his stomach, he wanted to retch, but fear of the katana in his face made him hold it all in.
"You..." said the man in the hood, pointing at him with a slender finger. Lucius shivered, feeling more helpless than ever - he was dead wrong when he thought the croc-man was the worst he had to contend with. "You know the whereabouts of Bruce Wayne."
Lifting up his arms in surrender, Lucius swallowed a huge gulp. Bruce had just returned to Gotham after spending six-months in captivity. He hadn't stated who or what was behind his capture, but if Lucius had to guess - this guy was probably it. "N... not exactly." It was the truth, but he didn't think the stranger would be satisfied with his reply.
"With a snap I can end you," said the man in the hood. "Do you really wish to gamble with your life?"
The man had a good point, yet Lucius had no immediate plans to give Bruce up if he could help it at all. "Speaking of gambling, Bruce didn't mention anything about you or..." he glanced at the men in robes. "Any of your associates to the rest of us. Surely that means something? Can't you show him a little mercy?"
"Mercy..." the man in the hood said with a laugh. "I may have room for mercy, but only after I find him first. And I will do that, with or without your help." He turned to the men at his side, and motioned towards Waylon and Fox. "Remove both this creature and this man from the tower. I do not want them meddling in our affairs."
As the katana was lowered from Lucius' throat, and placed behind him as his captor beckoned him forward, he mustered whatever courage he had to ask the man in the hood, "Why is that tower so important to you? What do you plan to do with it?"
"I suppose with Gotham coming to an end, it wouldn't hurt for you to know," he said. "That tower will enhance the strength of the quake - turning what might be a minor event into something that will rock every structure to the core."
Lucius gasped, it all finally made sense to him - the bunkers, the talk of devastation, the Court... everything except the man in the hood. He didn't understand how he fit into the picture. "I understand that the Court of Owls wishes to regain the power they once had over Gotham, but how are you to profit from this?"
"I happen to be a man with many fingers. Each with a hold on a city or a nation in the world. The Court is merely a tool for me to achieve my will for Gotham."
Lucius fell a step behind. Just like that, he'd all his questions answered. At the same time, he feared the truth would be buried with him. He could only pray that Harvey, Jim and the rest of the G.C.P.D would be able to prevent what would soon befall the city.
"What? Those don't sound like standard law enforcement agents. If you'll permit me speculating here, maybe those men belonged to some other nefarious group, but were parading as agents," Lucius offered. The men and women exchanged glances, appearing to accept that as a probable fact.
"What do you think the tower is supposed to do?" asked Waylon.
"I can't tell, not till I get in."
Waylon bent to the ground, picked up a rock at his feet, and tossed it at the fence. The rock made the fence spark brightly and buzz with energy. "Hmm... an electrified fence." He looked about and found a rock the size of a dish, picked it up with two arms and tossed it at the fence. The light that was produced was a lot larger, and so was the sound of electrical humming. But the fence stood strong against the croc's attacks. His followers began to follow his lead, tossing stones at the fence, causing it to erupt in sparks each and every place it got hit.
"There must be an easier way in," said Lucius, breaking off from the others to study the fence at closer range. Already, he could see a locked gate with some kind of remote contraption and... what looked to be a camera. "Uh oh..."
"Uh oh?" asked Waylon.
"Don't panic now, but I think we've been spotted."
"Good!" declared Waylon, planting his feet in the ground as he turned around to the woods around them. "Let them come. I want to meet the people responsible for installing this trash in my forest!"
"Your forest?" Came a voice in the woods. A slim figure in a dark hood appeared on the scene, and beside him a number of men in dark robes leapt down from the trees to land silently next to him. "I should think not."
"And who do you think you are?" asked Waylon, unimpressed by the display.
The dark figure laughed, and slowly he lowered the hood to reveal a tanned skinned man with dark eyes and greying hair. "I'm your lord. You'd do well to bow before me."
A steel chained net surrounded by weighty ball bearings fell over Waylon, causing him to be trapped beneath. The croc-man angrily lashed out at the chains, but all his attempts only caused him to become even more entangled in the mesh. He roared under the weight of his constraints.
With two-to-three somersaults through the air, the men in robes landed right before Waylon's followers, katanas slicing through flesh and bone. They moved so smoothly and silently, they were almost invisible to the eye. A cry caught in Lucius' throat, his life flashing before his very eyes. He tried to back off the scene, but soon felt an arm wrapped around his back, the glint of a katana before his eyes. And all around him, the mangled bodies of all those who had followed. A sickness invaded the pit of his stomach, he wanted to retch, but fear of the katana in his face made him hold it all in.
"You..." said the man in the hood, pointing at him with a slender finger. Lucius shivered, feeling more helpless than ever - he was dead wrong when he thought the croc-man was the worst he had to contend with. "You know the whereabouts of Bruce Wayne."
Lifting up his arms in surrender, Lucius swallowed a huge gulp. Bruce had just returned to Gotham after spending six-months in captivity. He hadn't stated who or what was behind his capture, but if Lucius had to guess - this guy was probably it. "N... not exactly." It was the truth, but he didn't think the stranger would be satisfied with his reply.
"With a snap I can end you," said the man in the hood. "Do you really wish to gamble with your life?"
The man had a good point, yet Lucius had no immediate plans to give Bruce up if he could help it at all. "Speaking of gambling, Bruce didn't mention anything about you or..." he glanced at the men in robes. "Any of your associates to the rest of us. Surely that means something? Can't you show him a little mercy?"
"Mercy..." the man in the hood said with a laugh. "I may have room for mercy, but only after I find him first. And I will do that, with or without your help." He turned to the men at his side, and motioned towards Waylon and Fox. "Remove both this creature and this man from the tower. I do not want them meddling in our affairs."
As the katana was lowered from Lucius' throat, and placed behind him as his captor beckoned him forward, he mustered whatever courage he had to ask the man in the hood, "Why is that tower so important to you? What do you plan to do with it?"
"I suppose with Gotham coming to an end, it wouldn't hurt for you to know," he said. "That tower will enhance the strength of the quake - turning what might be a minor event into something that will rock every structure to the core."
Lucius gasped, it all finally made sense to him - the bunkers, the talk of devastation, the Court... everything except the man in the hood. He didn't understand how he fit into the picture. "I understand that the Court of Owls wishes to regain the power they once had over Gotham, but how are you to profit from this?"
"I happen to be a man with many fingers. Each with a hold on a city or a nation in the world. The Court is merely a tool for me to achieve my will for Gotham."
Lucius fell a step behind. Just like that, he'd all his questions answered. At the same time, he feared the truth would be buried with him. He could only pray that Harvey, Jim and the rest of the G.C.P.D would be able to prevent what would soon befall the city.
Thursday 7 June 2018
Chapter 43
Their mysterious benefactor's instructions were fairly easy for Johnathan Crane to follow through with. The crimson brew bubbled into gaseous form and began filling the first of the many canisters they were meant to fill.
As for their little science experiment, he remained strapped down, looking just a little more bloodthirsty than before. The veins in his throat were protruding and pulsing in shades of violet.
Valeska returned then with a female assistant by his side. Right away he noticed the test subject, and bent low to study him. "Is this a result of the gas?" he asked.
"In liquid form, a more concentrated dose," replied Crane. "But I assume the gas will have similar effects, just react a little less quickly."
"Ah, that's good. By the way, this here is Meryl," he introduced. The other two men waved at her. "She's here to help out. I've sent my feelers to the G.C.P.D to find out who it was that broke us out, and they came back with a name and an address."
"Think that they aren't well-meaning?" asked Tetch. "I was just starting to get the same feeling."
Valeska smiled. "Nobody gives away gifts of mass murder for free, we'd be fools to believe otherwise."
"I didn't," said Crane. "That's why I made us antidotes." He pulled out three syringes from his pocket. Then he looked at Meryl. "Um... none for you, sorry."
She nodded in an accepting manner.
Jerome paced slowly as he presupposed what was to happen next. "See... our friend Jervis here is supposed to visit a blimp hangar next. If these guys are as crazy as I think they are, they're going to ask us to load them up with the insanity gas, then send the blimp riding high in the sky for the best possible wind distribution. They'd paint the rest of Gotham just like..." he pointed to the strapped up test subject, "This guy here."
"It doesn't sound like a bad plan, why do I feel like you're not a fan?" asked Tetch curiously.
Jerome shrugged, "What I don't like is that there's a second part to it, my part. I'm to pay a visit to the Gotham Broadcasting station, likely to plaster my face on screens across the city. All of Gotham will assume that we're behind this."
"And what's wrong with that?" asked Crane. He wasn't exactly opposed to taking the credit for someone else's plans for city-wide madness.
"Nothing completely wrong about it. But think about it a moment, the real masterminds would've played us like pawns. They'll get away scott free while we become the faces of this event. Do you like being a pawn?"
"Not I, not I," declared Tetch. "I'd not want to be one of those. What then do you propose?"
With a wide grin, Jerome took a pack of poker cards out of his front pocket and began laying the cards down on Crane's desk. He did that one by one, with the picture-side up. "Well, the real joke here is they've convinced themselves that they're playing us, but they'll soon realise that this game can be played by two. After all, we hold the wild card." He flipped over the Joker card and pointed to it. "They'll never see it coming." He erupted into giggles.
A call came in for Gordon from Smith the morning after a back-trace of Jim's phone had been done, and an address derived. "We've spotted the three inmates, and a single female individual. They seem to be loading some boxes into a van parked just outside of 71 Welling Avenue. Should we attempt arrest?"
"Need I remind you that any one of those three can easily take the two of you out with ease, not to mention all three of them together. Wait for backup. I repeat, do not approach," replied Jim. "Keep a safe distance and continue to report on their location."
"Roger that," came his reply after a short pause. "They're moving off, we'll be tracking them. Will check back in soon."
Lucius Fox reluctantly forfeited his coat and all the cash he had on hand to the reptilian man - who asked to be called Waylon Jones. But as he did, he made sure to apprise Waylon of everything they knew of the Court and a possible calamity that was to befall the Narrows. Waylon listened quite intently, especially when Lucius mentioned how the wealthy planned to save only themselves.
"I wouldn't like that," he finally admitted. "I've made a home for myself here, it isn't fair if everything came crumbling down."
"Help me then, Mr Jones. This involves all of us, not just myself, or the G..." he stopped short of a second mistake reminding these people of Gotham law enforcement. "My tracker has been picking signals up from that radio telecasting station. It might be where the Court will attempt to create an epicenter of destruction."
Waylon raised a brow, "How do I know you aren't just saying all this in order that we'd let you go?"
"Why don't we go take a look together? It won't hurt, and if I'm wrong, you get to keep me or dispose of me how you please." Lucius beat himself up inside making such promises. He really didn't know what they'd find in there, and he was waging a lot on a completely unknown factor.
With a laugh Waylon rose to his feet. He towered over Lucius, easily over six feet. "I like this guy, he takes big bets." And after a short pause, "Fine, we'll go see this tower of yours, and then we'll decide what to do with you."
As for their little science experiment, he remained strapped down, looking just a little more bloodthirsty than before. The veins in his throat were protruding and pulsing in shades of violet.
Valeska returned then with a female assistant by his side. Right away he noticed the test subject, and bent low to study him. "Is this a result of the gas?" he asked.
"In liquid form, a more concentrated dose," replied Crane. "But I assume the gas will have similar effects, just react a little less quickly."
"Ah, that's good. By the way, this here is Meryl," he introduced. The other two men waved at her. "She's here to help out. I've sent my feelers to the G.C.P.D to find out who it was that broke us out, and they came back with a name and an address."
"Think that they aren't well-meaning?" asked Tetch. "I was just starting to get the same feeling."
Valeska smiled. "Nobody gives away gifts of mass murder for free, we'd be fools to believe otherwise."
"I didn't," said Crane. "That's why I made us antidotes." He pulled out three syringes from his pocket. Then he looked at Meryl. "Um... none for you, sorry."
She nodded in an accepting manner.
Jerome paced slowly as he presupposed what was to happen next. "See... our friend Jervis here is supposed to visit a blimp hangar next. If these guys are as crazy as I think they are, they're going to ask us to load them up with the insanity gas, then send the blimp riding high in the sky for the best possible wind distribution. They'd paint the rest of Gotham just like..." he pointed to the strapped up test subject, "This guy here."
"It doesn't sound like a bad plan, why do I feel like you're not a fan?" asked Tetch curiously.
Jerome shrugged, "What I don't like is that there's a second part to it, my part. I'm to pay a visit to the Gotham Broadcasting station, likely to plaster my face on screens across the city. All of Gotham will assume that we're behind this."
"And what's wrong with that?" asked Crane. He wasn't exactly opposed to taking the credit for someone else's plans for city-wide madness.
"Nothing completely wrong about it. But think about it a moment, the real masterminds would've played us like pawns. They'll get away scott free while we become the faces of this event. Do you like being a pawn?"
"Not I, not I," declared Tetch. "I'd not want to be one of those. What then do you propose?"
With a wide grin, Jerome took a pack of poker cards out of his front pocket and began laying the cards down on Crane's desk. He did that one by one, with the picture-side up. "Well, the real joke here is they've convinced themselves that they're playing us, but they'll soon realise that this game can be played by two. After all, we hold the wild card." He flipped over the Joker card and pointed to it. "They'll never see it coming." He erupted into giggles.
A call came in for Gordon from Smith the morning after a back-trace of Jim's phone had been done, and an address derived. "We've spotted the three inmates, and a single female individual. They seem to be loading some boxes into a van parked just outside of 71 Welling Avenue. Should we attempt arrest?"
"Need I remind you that any one of those three can easily take the two of you out with ease, not to mention all three of them together. Wait for backup. I repeat, do not approach," replied Jim. "Keep a safe distance and continue to report on their location."
"Roger that," came his reply after a short pause. "They're moving off, we'll be tracking them. Will check back in soon."
Lucius Fox reluctantly forfeited his coat and all the cash he had on hand to the reptilian man - who asked to be called Waylon Jones. But as he did, he made sure to apprise Waylon of everything they knew of the Court and a possible calamity that was to befall the Narrows. Waylon listened quite intently, especially when Lucius mentioned how the wealthy planned to save only themselves.
"I wouldn't like that," he finally admitted. "I've made a home for myself here, it isn't fair if everything came crumbling down."
"Help me then, Mr Jones. This involves all of us, not just myself, or the G..." he stopped short of a second mistake reminding these people of Gotham law enforcement. "My tracker has been picking signals up from that radio telecasting station. It might be where the Court will attempt to create an epicenter of destruction."
Waylon raised a brow, "How do I know you aren't just saying all this in order that we'd let you go?"
"Why don't we go take a look together? It won't hurt, and if I'm wrong, you get to keep me or dispose of me how you please." Lucius beat himself up inside making such promises. He really didn't know what they'd find in there, and he was waging a lot on a completely unknown factor.
With a laugh Waylon rose to his feet. He towered over Lucius, easily over six feet. "I like this guy, he takes big bets." And after a short pause, "Fine, we'll go see this tower of yours, and then we'll decide what to do with you."
Wednesday 6 June 2018
Chapter 42
Bruce had managed just four hours sleep before he was up again at 8am, dressed up in a coat and a tie, sneaking off to grab one of his family's cars to head into the city. He was surprised to find Alfred standing in the garage looking back at him. "What're you doing in the garage, Alfred?"
"I could ask you the same thing, Master B. Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?"
He shook his head. "I can't, not now. Time is ticking down, Alfred. With Katherine Monroe gone, I've reason to believe whatever's going to happen will happen very soon."
"Well before you go running off," said Alfred. "There's one really important thing you've forgotten."
A mental list of everything that had been said or explored related to Ra's and the Court ran down through Bruce's mind. He knew he'd covered most of the basics of what they understood of the case, which made him all the more curious as to what Alfred might be referring to. "And what might that be?"
"That it's your birthday," stated Alfred with a grin.
"Really..." Bruce couldn't deny that it'd completely slipped his mind. Kinda felt a little frivolous to indulge in a celebration at such time.
"I kind of thought that you might decide to sneak off at some point, and without me here to stop you, you'd end up ruining your own surprise."
"Surprise?"
Alfred walked up and handed him a little red box neatly wrapped in a black bow. "Happy birthday, Master Wayne."
A birthday surprise was the last thing that Bruce had expected that morning, yet he figured that he could do with a brief distraction. "I can't believe you remembered," he said as he picked up the box, a smile reflected on his own face.
"Of course I remembered. I bloody love your birthdays," declared Alfred proudly. "Your seventh was an absolute binder. Yeah, I remember you had about fifty kids come up here, but you were off outside, on your own. You were obsessed by this one gift that your dad gave you - this bright red wagon. You were in the garden all day collecting all these rocks. When I asked you what you were gonna do with all these rocks, you said, 'I'm gonna build a home, for my wagon. A secret place that only I know about.'"
Bruce remembered that event. He remembered the red wagon. The same wagon he'd brought with him everywhere he went - till the day he lost his grip on it and it went tumbling into a hole on the ground, leading into a cavern hidden out somewhere on the property. In an effort to rescue the wagon, he'd attempted to climb into the gaping cavity, only to slip and land in the darkness, badly twisting his ankle in the process. Both Alfred and his father only found him after about an hour's search, and fished him out of the cavern; more traumatized by the resident bats that'd swarmed him during the time he spent down there, than concerned about his swelled up ankle. Dr Thomas Wayne bordered up the entry point during the time Bruce was sitting at home, getting his ankle iced. They never retrieved the wagon.
Tugging on the bow, Bruce lifted up the cover on the box, and found a remote controller sitting inside with a single large button in the middle of it. "What's this?"
"It's the reason why I made it a point to stand here in the garage before you got here yourself, Master Bruce."
Bruce picked up the remote and pressed the button. A resulting engine purred into action. Alfred stepped aside, revealing a new car in the garage; a black matte-shaded Ford Mustang with a low front and an arched back. Surprised by the reveal, Bruce walked over to examine the vehicle. "Alfred, I don't know what to say."
"V-8, five liter, 460 horsepower engine. Painted matte black, anti-reflective. Very difficult to see at night. Oh and of course this..." Alfred pulled a gun out of a holster hidden under his jacket, and shot at the car. The bullet ricocheted off the frame without leaving so much as a dent. "100% bulletproof. Best be prepared, eh?"
Looking at the beauty of a vehicle sitting right before him, Bruce found himself lacking the words to express how he felt about Alfred's gift to him. It wasn't just the effort of saving the money for such an extravagant present, or the fact that he'd stayed up all night to surprise him, but it was a sign that in spite of all the protests, Alfred condoned what Bruce had set his mind to do, and wanted to lend his support. Bruce knew there was only one way to thank him properly. He turned around and enveloped Alfred in a big hug.
"Oh oh... mate," chuckled Alfred.
9:30am, just half an hour after the realtor office had opened its doors to the public, Bruce Wayne waltzed in with a charming smile on his face. He walked right up to the lady at the front desk, and leaned over the side. She figured she must be a whole ten years older than him, but he had just hit the peak end of his adolescent phase and already had both the height and the appearance of a man. "Hi there," he said to her, as though he'd met her before.
"H... hi Mr Wayne?" replied the lady, a little unsure of how she might approach the billionaire.
He picked up the tag at the user end of her desk, and read it out loud, "Lindsey Nasser is glad to serve you." His chestnut-brown eyes flicked back in her direction. "Nice name... Lindsey."
"Thanks." She knew she was getting flustered, and for a moment felt a tinge of embarrassment that it was over - well... essentially a teenager. There was something magnetic about him nonetheless. "How can I help you today, Mr Wayne?"
"Yes, I'm thinking about purchasing some property. Close to town, to be exact."
Instinctively, her fingers hovered over the keyboard to her side. "Which part of the city would you like? I'd be pleased to list you all the available units."
"Not just any unit," he said, still keeping his gaze trained on her. "One in particular. The town house belonging to Ms. Katherine Monroe."
"Oh.." Lindsey set to work, typing the details into the system, and waited till the results presented themselves on screen. A frown worked its way onto her face. "Gee... I'm sorry Mr Wayne, it seems Ms. Katherine Monroe has recently sold off her property. She's to hand over her keys next week."
Bruce wasn't particularly surprised by the news, it'd only confirmed what he thought she might've done. "Do you know which property she's purchased in place of the one she's sold?"
"Uh..." Lindsey said uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, but that information is confidential."
Sighing audibly, Bruce clasped his hands together. "That is a real pity. You see, Katherine is an old friend of the family's and I know how precious that town house has been to her. After all, it's been in her family for... quite a long time. I know she's been having money problems, due to some bad share investments. I'd have hoped that she'd feel at ease to approach me for a loan, but I take it that she was embarrassed to do so. And now she's lost a vital piece of the Monroe heritage. How tragic! Wouldn't you think so, Ms. Nasser?"
Lindsey nodded readily. Feeling bad for Katherine Monroe already.
"Well... it seems I can't stop this exchange, but perhaps if I knew where she plans to reside next, I can pay her a visit... perhaps improve her way of life," Bruce Wayne turned a charming smile towards Lindsey, and she found herself staring at the results on her screen. "Perhaps both of us can do a good deed today, don't you think, Ms. Nasser?"
"Mr Wayne - I'm really not supposed to tell you this but, I'd noticed something odd about Ms. Katherine Monroe's other purchase. It isn't the address of a house, but of a hangar."
"A hangar?" Bruce straightened up. "The sort that houses planes?"
Lindsey laughed lightly. "I suppose one can house a plane there too. But this one in particular was built for housing blimps. That's why it has a retractable skylight. Perhaps Ms Monroe is thinking about jump starting a blimp rental service?"
Bruce nodded. "Perhaps. If that's so, I'd like to pay her a visit to help her with her new endeavor." He subtly motioned towards her screen. "If you'd be so kind as to aid me in that effort, Ms. Nasser?"
Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she sent the document to the printer. "Already on it, Mr Wayne. Let me just black out some of the details before handing you the document, but the address is all yours."
He grinned. "I am greatly indebted to you, Lindsey."
"I could ask you the same thing, Master B. Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?"
He shook his head. "I can't, not now. Time is ticking down, Alfred. With Katherine Monroe gone, I've reason to believe whatever's going to happen will happen very soon."
"Well before you go running off," said Alfred. "There's one really important thing you've forgotten."
A mental list of everything that had been said or explored related to Ra's and the Court ran down through Bruce's mind. He knew he'd covered most of the basics of what they understood of the case, which made him all the more curious as to what Alfred might be referring to. "And what might that be?"
"That it's your birthday," stated Alfred with a grin.
"Really..." Bruce couldn't deny that it'd completely slipped his mind. Kinda felt a little frivolous to indulge in a celebration at such time.
"I kind of thought that you might decide to sneak off at some point, and without me here to stop you, you'd end up ruining your own surprise."
"Surprise?"
Alfred walked up and handed him a little red box neatly wrapped in a black bow. "Happy birthday, Master Wayne."
A birthday surprise was the last thing that Bruce had expected that morning, yet he figured that he could do with a brief distraction. "I can't believe you remembered," he said as he picked up the box, a smile reflected on his own face.
"Of course I remembered. I bloody love your birthdays," declared Alfred proudly. "Your seventh was an absolute binder. Yeah, I remember you had about fifty kids come up here, but you were off outside, on your own. You were obsessed by this one gift that your dad gave you - this bright red wagon. You were in the garden all day collecting all these rocks. When I asked you what you were gonna do with all these rocks, you said, 'I'm gonna build a home, for my wagon. A secret place that only I know about.'"
Bruce remembered that event. He remembered the red wagon. The same wagon he'd brought with him everywhere he went - till the day he lost his grip on it and it went tumbling into a hole on the ground, leading into a cavern hidden out somewhere on the property. In an effort to rescue the wagon, he'd attempted to climb into the gaping cavity, only to slip and land in the darkness, badly twisting his ankle in the process. Both Alfred and his father only found him after about an hour's search, and fished him out of the cavern; more traumatized by the resident bats that'd swarmed him during the time he spent down there, than concerned about his swelled up ankle. Dr Thomas Wayne bordered up the entry point during the time Bruce was sitting at home, getting his ankle iced. They never retrieved the wagon.
Tugging on the bow, Bruce lifted up the cover on the box, and found a remote controller sitting inside with a single large button in the middle of it. "What's this?"
"It's the reason why I made it a point to stand here in the garage before you got here yourself, Master Bruce."
Bruce picked up the remote and pressed the button. A resulting engine purred into action. Alfred stepped aside, revealing a new car in the garage; a black matte-shaded Ford Mustang with a low front and an arched back. Surprised by the reveal, Bruce walked over to examine the vehicle. "Alfred, I don't know what to say."
"V-8, five liter, 460 horsepower engine. Painted matte black, anti-reflective. Very difficult to see at night. Oh and of course this..." Alfred pulled a gun out of a holster hidden under his jacket, and shot at the car. The bullet ricocheted off the frame without leaving so much as a dent. "100% bulletproof. Best be prepared, eh?"
Looking at the beauty of a vehicle sitting right before him, Bruce found himself lacking the words to express how he felt about Alfred's gift to him. It wasn't just the effort of saving the money for such an extravagant present, or the fact that he'd stayed up all night to surprise him, but it was a sign that in spite of all the protests, Alfred condoned what Bruce had set his mind to do, and wanted to lend his support. Bruce knew there was only one way to thank him properly. He turned around and enveloped Alfred in a big hug.
"Oh oh... mate," chuckled Alfred.
9:30am, just half an hour after the realtor office had opened its doors to the public, Bruce Wayne waltzed in with a charming smile on his face. He walked right up to the lady at the front desk, and leaned over the side. She figured she must be a whole ten years older than him, but he had just hit the peak end of his adolescent phase and already had both the height and the appearance of a man. "Hi there," he said to her, as though he'd met her before.
"H... hi Mr Wayne?" replied the lady, a little unsure of how she might approach the billionaire.
He picked up the tag at the user end of her desk, and read it out loud, "Lindsey Nasser is glad to serve you." His chestnut-brown eyes flicked back in her direction. "Nice name... Lindsey."
"Thanks." She knew she was getting flustered, and for a moment felt a tinge of embarrassment that it was over - well... essentially a teenager. There was something magnetic about him nonetheless. "How can I help you today, Mr Wayne?"
"Yes, I'm thinking about purchasing some property. Close to town, to be exact."
Instinctively, her fingers hovered over the keyboard to her side. "Which part of the city would you like? I'd be pleased to list you all the available units."
"Not just any unit," he said, still keeping his gaze trained on her. "One in particular. The town house belonging to Ms. Katherine Monroe."
"Oh.." Lindsey set to work, typing the details into the system, and waited till the results presented themselves on screen. A frown worked its way onto her face. "Gee... I'm sorry Mr Wayne, it seems Ms. Katherine Monroe has recently sold off her property. She's to hand over her keys next week."
Bruce wasn't particularly surprised by the news, it'd only confirmed what he thought she might've done. "Do you know which property she's purchased in place of the one she's sold?"
"Uh..." Lindsey said uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, but that information is confidential."
Sighing audibly, Bruce clasped his hands together. "That is a real pity. You see, Katherine is an old friend of the family's and I know how precious that town house has been to her. After all, it's been in her family for... quite a long time. I know she's been having money problems, due to some bad share investments. I'd have hoped that she'd feel at ease to approach me for a loan, but I take it that she was embarrassed to do so. And now she's lost a vital piece of the Monroe heritage. How tragic! Wouldn't you think so, Ms. Nasser?"
Lindsey nodded readily. Feeling bad for Katherine Monroe already.
"Well... it seems I can't stop this exchange, but perhaps if I knew where she plans to reside next, I can pay her a visit... perhaps improve her way of life," Bruce Wayne turned a charming smile towards Lindsey, and she found herself staring at the results on her screen. "Perhaps both of us can do a good deed today, don't you think, Ms. Nasser?"
"Mr Wayne - I'm really not supposed to tell you this but, I'd noticed something odd about Ms. Katherine Monroe's other purchase. It isn't the address of a house, but of a hangar."
"A hangar?" Bruce straightened up. "The sort that houses planes?"
Lindsey laughed lightly. "I suppose one can house a plane there too. But this one in particular was built for housing blimps. That's why it has a retractable skylight. Perhaps Ms Monroe is thinking about jump starting a blimp rental service?"
Bruce nodded. "Perhaps. If that's so, I'd like to pay her a visit to help her with her new endeavor." He subtly motioned towards her screen. "If you'd be so kind as to aid me in that effort, Ms. Nasser?"
Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she sent the document to the printer. "Already on it, Mr Wayne. Let me just black out some of the details before handing you the document, but the address is all yours."
He grinned. "I am greatly indebted to you, Lindsey."
Tuesday 5 June 2018
Chapter 41
Tabitha had left Barbara at the nearest hospital and walked away. The final shred of kindness that she would afford to her former partner. As promised, Oswald had started renovations on his new club, with a glass enclosure center-piece with base freezing units for where the block of ice that encased Edward Nygma would be set.
Even though Oswald had promised Tabitha with management of his new club, Tabitha remained restless. Perhaps the bulk of time both Selina and Tabitha found themselves with during the ongoing renovations might've contributed to the sense of unease that Cobblepot might not hold up his end of the deal.
"I think we should look into a side business," Tabitha told Selina over drinks at a bar that they'd begun frequenting since the shooting.
"You don't think Penguin is going to think you're conspiring against him like Barbara did?" Selina replied as she spun her glass of whiskey around in her fingers. Technically, she was still under the legal age limit to drink, but Tabitha held some sway with the sleazier side of Gotham, and so certain bartenders would intentionally look the other way. All in all, Selina was pretty much enjoying the privilege of hanging out with Tabitha, and the fact that the association lent to her in some way. The fences weren't as dismissive of her as before, not especially after news had spread about what'd happened to Barbara.
"That was different," assured Tabitha. "There's nothing wrong to have some cash on the side. Even Oswald would understand that."
"So what're we talking about?" asked Selina. The idea of a 'side business' only brought Ivy's proposed plant shop to mind, but she doubted Tabitha would be the least interested in investing in plants. Knowing Tabby, she'd probably had much larger dreams than Ivy could even conjure up.
"Remember that drug that was circulating the market sometime ago that would give its user an adrenaline rush, so powerful it'd triple his strength threefold?"
Selina planted her cheek on the palm of her hand. "Didn't it also kill people?"
"It did," replied Tabitha. "But I've heard whispers about someone that goes by nothing more than a code name, who's perfecting the drug. Claims to be able to take away the defects, leaving only a temporary sense of euphoria and empowerment. Let me tell you that if we manage to control that drug, we'd be rich beyond our wildest dreams. We might even be able to buy over the Iceberg Lounge."
Selina narrowed her eyes. "So this is what it is about, isn't it?"
"Well... yes and no." Tabitha leaned back in her seat. "It's about being independent. You want that too, don't you?"
With a casual shrug, Selina replied, "Yea, of course I do."
"So are we doing this?"
"As long as it doesn't involve killing. I don't necessarily have the stomach for it."
Tabitha smiled. "If it comes down to that, you can leave those particular tasks to me."
Night had fallen, and Bruce kept within the shadows as he scaled the home of Katherine Monroe's, right to the rooftop. Decked completely in black, together with a dark ski mask to conceal his identity, Bruce took every effort not to be spotted by the Court of Owls nor their associates - if spending six months in a prison in Tibet hadn't been enough to teach him that.
"Are you doing alright, Master Bruce?" came Alfred's voice over the discreet little spy radio sitting in his ear.
"I'm fine," he whispered back, hoping that Alfred wouldn't be talking throughout the mission. It was hard enough to convince him to let him do this - the only way Alfred would simmer down about it was a promise on his part to have that radio ready and active at all times.
"Do take care of that shoulder will ya?"
Bruce couldn't deny that he appreciated the concern. Yet there was a proper time and place for such things. It concerned him that replying to Alfred's every worry might put him in more serious trouble, so Bruce decided not to respond at all. He felt bad to do that to Alfred, but he supposed he'd just make it up to him later.
Crouching right above one of the upper bedroom windows, Bruce peered in as Alfred went on, "I know you're probably not replying me because you can't. That's fine with me. You should be keeping your eye on the ball..."
What really stood out to him was that the bedroom was mostly empty. Aside from the few pieces of furniture in the room, there was nothing to identify who that room belonged to. Not a framed picture, not a trinket, not a stray piece of clothing. Opening that window carefully, he slid his way into the room.
And that radio receiver continued speaking in his ear, "Wait... did you just go into the house? Do be very careful. You don't know who's roaming about in there. Remember what happened that last time with the Talon..."
Bruce sighed quietly. He didn't want to say anything about Alfred incessant talking being a distraction - in fact he had half a mind to turn off the radio, but he had promised to keep it on. Moving across the room, he dragged open a drawer at his chest level. It was completely empty. He moved on to the one beneath the first. It was empty as well. His mind was already firing pistons about what was going on, but he wouldn't know for sure till he'd gone through more rooms.
The cloth shoes he'd put on for this mission helped in a great way to minimize the sound of his movements. He'd practiced with them endlessly in Nanda Parbat, and as much as he didn't want to dwell too much on his time in captivity, he could see that several of the skills he had picked up there were starting to come in handy here.
"To think all these dangerous associations are all connected. If Thomas Wayne were alive today, and to know what they did with you..."
The hallway was silent, empty like the previous room. The room next to it... pretty much the same way, and the room after that. After the fourth room, Bruce could conclusively state that Katherine Monroe wasn't about, and that no one else was. Not even a Talon remained behind to guard the property. Truth be told, he wasn't sure how he'd do against a Talon, even with the skills he'd gained in Tibet. The thought of it being an empty house was in part a relief.
He became a little bolder in his attempts to search for signs of where Katherine had gone to; opening wardrobes and cupboards with greater quickness, less silence. He found it odd how she'd not removed a piece of furniture, though all their contents had been claimed... or stolen. Then again - no thief would have the time to leave every drawer in its original position, nor would he swipe the seemingly less important items. No. Someone had been through the house and intentionally removed every single item.
There were just two possibilities for this - Katherine had been forcibly removed by someone more powerful than her, or she had already gone into hiding in anticipation of the quake. Either possibility spelled trouble.
Even though Oswald had promised Tabitha with management of his new club, Tabitha remained restless. Perhaps the bulk of time both Selina and Tabitha found themselves with during the ongoing renovations might've contributed to the sense of unease that Cobblepot might not hold up his end of the deal.
"I think we should look into a side business," Tabitha told Selina over drinks at a bar that they'd begun frequenting since the shooting.
"You don't think Penguin is going to think you're conspiring against him like Barbara did?" Selina replied as she spun her glass of whiskey around in her fingers. Technically, she was still under the legal age limit to drink, but Tabitha held some sway with the sleazier side of Gotham, and so certain bartenders would intentionally look the other way. All in all, Selina was pretty much enjoying the privilege of hanging out with Tabitha, and the fact that the association lent to her in some way. The fences weren't as dismissive of her as before, not especially after news had spread about what'd happened to Barbara.
"That was different," assured Tabitha. "There's nothing wrong to have some cash on the side. Even Oswald would understand that."
"So what're we talking about?" asked Selina. The idea of a 'side business' only brought Ivy's proposed plant shop to mind, but she doubted Tabitha would be the least interested in investing in plants. Knowing Tabby, she'd probably had much larger dreams than Ivy could even conjure up.
"Remember that drug that was circulating the market sometime ago that would give its user an adrenaline rush, so powerful it'd triple his strength threefold?"
Selina planted her cheek on the palm of her hand. "Didn't it also kill people?"
"It did," replied Tabitha. "But I've heard whispers about someone that goes by nothing more than a code name, who's perfecting the drug. Claims to be able to take away the defects, leaving only a temporary sense of euphoria and empowerment. Let me tell you that if we manage to control that drug, we'd be rich beyond our wildest dreams. We might even be able to buy over the Iceberg Lounge."
Selina narrowed her eyes. "So this is what it is about, isn't it?"
"Well... yes and no." Tabitha leaned back in her seat. "It's about being independent. You want that too, don't you?"
With a casual shrug, Selina replied, "Yea, of course I do."
"So are we doing this?"
"As long as it doesn't involve killing. I don't necessarily have the stomach for it."
Tabitha smiled. "If it comes down to that, you can leave those particular tasks to me."
Night had fallen, and Bruce kept within the shadows as he scaled the home of Katherine Monroe's, right to the rooftop. Decked completely in black, together with a dark ski mask to conceal his identity, Bruce took every effort not to be spotted by the Court of Owls nor their associates - if spending six months in a prison in Tibet hadn't been enough to teach him that.
"Are you doing alright, Master Bruce?" came Alfred's voice over the discreet little spy radio sitting in his ear.
"I'm fine," he whispered back, hoping that Alfred wouldn't be talking throughout the mission. It was hard enough to convince him to let him do this - the only way Alfred would simmer down about it was a promise on his part to have that radio ready and active at all times.
"Do take care of that shoulder will ya?"
Bruce couldn't deny that he appreciated the concern. Yet there was a proper time and place for such things. It concerned him that replying to Alfred's every worry might put him in more serious trouble, so Bruce decided not to respond at all. He felt bad to do that to Alfred, but he supposed he'd just make it up to him later.
Crouching right above one of the upper bedroom windows, Bruce peered in as Alfred went on, "I know you're probably not replying me because you can't. That's fine with me. You should be keeping your eye on the ball..."
What really stood out to him was that the bedroom was mostly empty. Aside from the few pieces of furniture in the room, there was nothing to identify who that room belonged to. Not a framed picture, not a trinket, not a stray piece of clothing. Opening that window carefully, he slid his way into the room.
And that radio receiver continued speaking in his ear, "Wait... did you just go into the house? Do be very careful. You don't know who's roaming about in there. Remember what happened that last time with the Talon..."
Bruce sighed quietly. He didn't want to say anything about Alfred incessant talking being a distraction - in fact he had half a mind to turn off the radio, but he had promised to keep it on. Moving across the room, he dragged open a drawer at his chest level. It was completely empty. He moved on to the one beneath the first. It was empty as well. His mind was already firing pistons about what was going on, but he wouldn't know for sure till he'd gone through more rooms.
The cloth shoes he'd put on for this mission helped in a great way to minimize the sound of his movements. He'd practiced with them endlessly in Nanda Parbat, and as much as he didn't want to dwell too much on his time in captivity, he could see that several of the skills he had picked up there were starting to come in handy here.
"To think all these dangerous associations are all connected. If Thomas Wayne were alive today, and to know what they did with you..."
The hallway was silent, empty like the previous room. The room next to it... pretty much the same way, and the room after that. After the fourth room, Bruce could conclusively state that Katherine Monroe wasn't about, and that no one else was. Not even a Talon remained behind to guard the property. Truth be told, he wasn't sure how he'd do against a Talon, even with the skills he'd gained in Tibet. The thought of it being an empty house was in part a relief.
He became a little bolder in his attempts to search for signs of where Katherine had gone to; opening wardrobes and cupboards with greater quickness, less silence. He found it odd how she'd not removed a piece of furniture, though all their contents had been claimed... or stolen. Then again - no thief would have the time to leave every drawer in its original position, nor would he swipe the seemingly less important items. No. Someone had been through the house and intentionally removed every single item.
There were just two possibilities for this - Katherine had been forcibly removed by someone more powerful than her, or she had already gone into hiding in anticipation of the quake. Either possibility spelled trouble.
Chapter 40
Jim was almost back at the station when a call came in for him. It was Harper. He'd ordinarily try not to take a call in the midst of driving, but with everything that was going on, he didn't think anyone would mind. "Gordon."
"Hi," came Harper's voice. "We've tracked down the vehicle that Jerome Valeska was last seen entering. It scooted down Advent Street and ended up in Welling Avenue. Traffic cameras spot it being stationery for over a day. Also, last seen locations for Tetch and Crane also place them loitering around that area. You might want to go down there and check it out."
"Great." The lead sounded solid enough. "What about..."
"The identity of the three men who broke into Arkham?" Harper finished Gordon's sentence.
"Yeah."
"We were only able to identify one. Miller and Smith are already on it."
"Ah. Call a swat team if needed. I tend to think any of those three will be hard to capture," Gordon instructed, reflecting on what he'd witnessed of the Talons.
"Got it."
"What about Harvey's phone?"
"We can only trace where its last signal was coming from before it was turned off. And that is a new property by Sionis' Design House. According to my records, it hasn't even finished construction."
"Fine, can I have the address?"
"Sure. Just give me a..."
A loud banging and sounds of muffled yelling erupted from where Harper was.
"Harper, what's going on?"
"Seems like..." she said after a while, audibly panting from what Gordon could only assume was the result of her running around the station. "A large group of people in circus gear, trying to get into the station. Alvarez has sealed the doors."
"Jerome followers?" he deduced.
"Could be," she replied. "A man is standing in the front. I think it's their leader. He's shouting something about wanting the identity of the man who broke Jerome out of Arkham."
Jim was taken aback by their request. All the while he'd assumed that Valeska, Tetch or Crane might've somehow been responsible for the breakout, but if Jerome's followers were at the station, demanding the identity of the men who'd broken their leader out, perhaps the two incidents were purely coincidental. Except... when does anything coincidental ever happen in Gotham?
"I'm coming back to handle this," he said, keeping his ride on route to the station. Originally he'd planned to check out Welling, but it'd just have to wait. "Sit tight and don't let them in."
"Copy that sir."
Jim noted the massive crowd, and made a turn to the alleyway behind the station. There were just too many of them clustering the front to approach - what with the crazy hair-dos, painted faces, and spiked jackets, they didn't exactly appear to be civilized, reasonable people either.
He wasn't sure what they'd do to him if he'd to walk up to the crowd, so he entered the station instead through the backdoor. The cops within were up in arms, nervously watching the front door as it vibrated with each thump. The crowd outside had gotten hold of a heavy item and had been using it as a makeshift battering ram. They'd still have to make it through the steel bars that lay just behind those heavy doors, but the crowd didn't know, nor did they care.
Jim found Harper, crossing the split level with a stack of notes in her arms. "Harper, can you hand me a loud hailer?"
She nodded quickly, picked one up from a nearby shelf and tossed it to him. He caught it nimbly and smiled at her. "Thanks."
Then walking to the front door, he turned the hailer on and spoke into it. "This is Detective James Gordon. I've heard your request, and am here to address it. But only if you back away from the main door." The thudding stopped. Several muffled shouts were heard from outside. Gordon couldn't make head or tail of it. "I'd like you to pick one representative for me to speak to. He or she will be allowed into the station. The rest will remain outside. This is the only way you'll be getting the information you want. We're not negotiating otherwise."
Again he heard a commotion outside. An administrative staff at the station handed him a ring of keys that would allow him to open both the gate and the door. He went ahead to open both, and widened the outer door just enough for him to peer out. The crowd watched him stoically, a man with green hair and painted tears on his face a whole few steps in front of the others. Jim looked at him. "Are you the representative?"
"Yeah," he replied. "My name's Donny."
"Fine, get in."
Donny entered and the doors and gates were shut behind him. "Whoa..." gasped Donny the moment he entered. "The lair of the coppers."
Jim cleared his throat. "So, what's this about Jerome wanting the name of one of the three men who broke him out of Arkham?"
"Daas what he said man," replied Donny. "'Raid the G.C.P.D and pull the security tapes from the Arkham break so ya can find the dude who broke into my cell.' We were plannin' on raiding this place, but it's much easier if you juz giveet to us."
Donny was the type of scum Jim regularly put away into cell blocks. With him unarmed and all alone, Jim found it incredibly tempting just to lock him up for whatever damage they'd inflicted on the front of the station. But there was something much larger at stake, and oddly enough, it sounded like Jerome was trying to figure out the same thing. Jim wondered if perhaps the maniac could be put to good use. Turning to the other cops, he asked, "Can someone get me the name of the perp connected to the Arkham break?"
"You aren't caving in already?" asked one of the cops in clear disappointment. "People can't just come in and demand stuff."
"I know that," Jim replied. "Consider this a special case. Trust me." Donny grinned, rather pleased with his skills of persuasion. The cops did as he asked, and handed him the name and address of the Talon, which he then handed it to Donny, together with his cellphone. "I'm sure Jerome will want to know the name and address as soon as possible, and he'll want to know the name of the brave follower who managed to get it for him. Why don't you use my phone to call him and let him know right away?"
Initially Donny hesitated. "I don't think Jerome has a phone... but Meryl does, and Meryl's with him."
"Right," coaxed Gordon. "Call Meryl then."
Donny set to work, dialing in Meryl's number. She picked up on the other end, and he gave her all the information, with a hand cradling his mouth at the receiver - as though that would prevent the fifty cops surrounding him, from hearing a thing. When all had been done, he handed the phone back to Gordon, and Gordon escorted him back outside.
"What about Miller and Smith?" asked the cop who'd questioned him.
Jim kept his eye on the crowd as Donny spoke to them, most likely relating what he'd accomplished in the station, and to get Jerome's followers to go back to wherever they'd come from. "Call them off," said Jim, handing the cop his phone. The same one that Donny had used. "Track the location of where that last call went to, and get Miller and Smith to follow behind Jerome. I'd like to see how all these parties fit into the whole picture. Also, get people down to Welling Avenue to look for the location of a stolen car. Once found, search the area for traces of Tetch and Crane."
"On it," replied the cop. He was starting to understand Gordon's plan to outsmart the inmates, and it made him a lot more confident to carry out Gordon's orders.
"Well look at you..." Gordon turned around. Harper was standing right behind him, a large smile on her face, "You're delegating. Perhaps the first signs of a future commissionership?"
"Nah," he replied, bashfully. "I think I've been taking too much on myself, and haven't been effective at all. Perhaps this way, we'll finally get something done."
She nodded. "I agree. And if you'll let me help you, I'll take someone and look for Bullock while you stay here and organize the troops."
"Harper, you don't have to..." he began, but she cut him off.
"Trust me, I want to. I've had enough of sitting in the station, staring at computer screens. It's your turn now."
He laughed, knowing that as much as he loved being a part of the action, since Barnes' incarceration, the G.C.P.D was badly lacking a commander and a strategist. Harvey, with all his great intentions, wasn't exactly the best delegator or planner - and with him gone from the scene, the rest of the force was basically directionless. If Jim wasn't going to step in, no one would.
"Fine, I'll stay here and take phone calls," he replied with a pout.
"Hi," came Harper's voice. "We've tracked down the vehicle that Jerome Valeska was last seen entering. It scooted down Advent Street and ended up in Welling Avenue. Traffic cameras spot it being stationery for over a day. Also, last seen locations for Tetch and Crane also place them loitering around that area. You might want to go down there and check it out."
"Great." The lead sounded solid enough. "What about..."
"The identity of the three men who broke into Arkham?" Harper finished Gordon's sentence.
"Yeah."
"We were only able to identify one. Miller and Smith are already on it."
"Ah. Call a swat team if needed. I tend to think any of those three will be hard to capture," Gordon instructed, reflecting on what he'd witnessed of the Talons.
"Got it."
"What about Harvey's phone?"
"We can only trace where its last signal was coming from before it was turned off. And that is a new property by Sionis' Design House. According to my records, it hasn't even finished construction."
"Fine, can I have the address?"
"Sure. Just give me a..."
A loud banging and sounds of muffled yelling erupted from where Harper was.
"Harper, what's going on?"
"Seems like..." she said after a while, audibly panting from what Gordon could only assume was the result of her running around the station. "A large group of people in circus gear, trying to get into the station. Alvarez has sealed the doors."
"Jerome followers?" he deduced.
"Could be," she replied. "A man is standing in the front. I think it's their leader. He's shouting something about wanting the identity of the man who broke Jerome out of Arkham."
Jim was taken aback by their request. All the while he'd assumed that Valeska, Tetch or Crane might've somehow been responsible for the breakout, but if Jerome's followers were at the station, demanding the identity of the men who'd broken their leader out, perhaps the two incidents were purely coincidental. Except... when does anything coincidental ever happen in Gotham?
"I'm coming back to handle this," he said, keeping his ride on route to the station. Originally he'd planned to check out Welling, but it'd just have to wait. "Sit tight and don't let them in."
"Copy that sir."
Jim noted the massive crowd, and made a turn to the alleyway behind the station. There were just too many of them clustering the front to approach - what with the crazy hair-dos, painted faces, and spiked jackets, they didn't exactly appear to be civilized, reasonable people either.
He wasn't sure what they'd do to him if he'd to walk up to the crowd, so he entered the station instead through the backdoor. The cops within were up in arms, nervously watching the front door as it vibrated with each thump. The crowd outside had gotten hold of a heavy item and had been using it as a makeshift battering ram. They'd still have to make it through the steel bars that lay just behind those heavy doors, but the crowd didn't know, nor did they care.
Jim found Harper, crossing the split level with a stack of notes in her arms. "Harper, can you hand me a loud hailer?"
She nodded quickly, picked one up from a nearby shelf and tossed it to him. He caught it nimbly and smiled at her. "Thanks."
Then walking to the front door, he turned the hailer on and spoke into it. "This is Detective James Gordon. I've heard your request, and am here to address it. But only if you back away from the main door." The thudding stopped. Several muffled shouts were heard from outside. Gordon couldn't make head or tail of it. "I'd like you to pick one representative for me to speak to. He or she will be allowed into the station. The rest will remain outside. This is the only way you'll be getting the information you want. We're not negotiating otherwise."
Again he heard a commotion outside. An administrative staff at the station handed him a ring of keys that would allow him to open both the gate and the door. He went ahead to open both, and widened the outer door just enough for him to peer out. The crowd watched him stoically, a man with green hair and painted tears on his face a whole few steps in front of the others. Jim looked at him. "Are you the representative?"
"Yeah," he replied. "My name's Donny."
"Fine, get in."
Donny entered and the doors and gates were shut behind him. "Whoa..." gasped Donny the moment he entered. "The lair of the coppers."
Jim cleared his throat. "So, what's this about Jerome wanting the name of one of the three men who broke him out of Arkham?"
"Daas what he said man," replied Donny. "'Raid the G.C.P.D and pull the security tapes from the Arkham break so ya can find the dude who broke into my cell.' We were plannin' on raiding this place, but it's much easier if you juz giveet to us."
Donny was the type of scum Jim regularly put away into cell blocks. With him unarmed and all alone, Jim found it incredibly tempting just to lock him up for whatever damage they'd inflicted on the front of the station. But there was something much larger at stake, and oddly enough, it sounded like Jerome was trying to figure out the same thing. Jim wondered if perhaps the maniac could be put to good use. Turning to the other cops, he asked, "Can someone get me the name of the perp connected to the Arkham break?"
"You aren't caving in already?" asked one of the cops in clear disappointment. "People can't just come in and demand stuff."
"I know that," Jim replied. "Consider this a special case. Trust me." Donny grinned, rather pleased with his skills of persuasion. The cops did as he asked, and handed him the name and address of the Talon, which he then handed it to Donny, together with his cellphone. "I'm sure Jerome will want to know the name and address as soon as possible, and he'll want to know the name of the brave follower who managed to get it for him. Why don't you use my phone to call him and let him know right away?"
Initially Donny hesitated. "I don't think Jerome has a phone... but Meryl does, and Meryl's with him."
"Right," coaxed Gordon. "Call Meryl then."
Donny set to work, dialing in Meryl's number. She picked up on the other end, and he gave her all the information, with a hand cradling his mouth at the receiver - as though that would prevent the fifty cops surrounding him, from hearing a thing. When all had been done, he handed the phone back to Gordon, and Gordon escorted him back outside.
"What about Miller and Smith?" asked the cop who'd questioned him.
Jim kept his eye on the crowd as Donny spoke to them, most likely relating what he'd accomplished in the station, and to get Jerome's followers to go back to wherever they'd come from. "Call them off," said Jim, handing the cop his phone. The same one that Donny had used. "Track the location of where that last call went to, and get Miller and Smith to follow behind Jerome. I'd like to see how all these parties fit into the whole picture. Also, get people down to Welling Avenue to look for the location of a stolen car. Once found, search the area for traces of Tetch and Crane."
"On it," replied the cop. He was starting to understand Gordon's plan to outsmart the inmates, and it made him a lot more confident to carry out Gordon's orders.
"Well look at you..." Gordon turned around. Harper was standing right behind him, a large smile on her face, "You're delegating. Perhaps the first signs of a future commissionership?"
"Nah," he replied, bashfully. "I think I've been taking too much on myself, and haven't been effective at all. Perhaps this way, we'll finally get something done."
She nodded. "I agree. And if you'll let me help you, I'll take someone and look for Bullock while you stay here and organize the troops."
"Harper, you don't have to..." he began, but she cut him off.
"Trust me, I want to. I've had enough of sitting in the station, staring at computer screens. It's your turn now."
He laughed, knowing that as much as he loved being a part of the action, since Barnes' incarceration, the G.C.P.D was badly lacking a commander and a strategist. Harvey, with all his great intentions, wasn't exactly the best delegator or planner - and with him gone from the scene, the rest of the force was basically directionless. If Jim wasn't going to step in, no one would.
"Fine, I'll stay here and take phone calls," he replied with a pout.
Monday 4 June 2018
Chapter 39
It'd been several days since Butch lay stewing in Slaughter Swamp when he finally reawakened. Dragging himself out of the chemical wasteland, back into the world of the living, he found he could not remember a thing.
In the distance floated the words of a child's nursery rhyme, "Solomon Grundy, Born on a Monday, Christened on Tuesday, Married on Wednesday, Took ill on Thursday, Grew worse on Friday, Died on Saturday, Buried on Sunday. That was the end, Of Solomon Grundy." They echoed through the swamp from some old record, spinning around on a needle.
"Solo..." he said, listening to the rhyme play on repeat. "Solomon..." He stumbled through the woods towards the sound. It got louder and louder as he approached a small cottage in the woods where a little girl sat next to a record player, humming the tune as she played with her doll. Her back was towards him. "Grundy..."
He pressed his face against the glass. The shadow that it cast drew the little girl's attention. She screamed, dropped her doll and ran out of the cottage without even a second glance.
"Grundy..."
The doll lay askew on the floor, abandoned by its owner. Lost and alone, much like how Grundy felt at that very moment. He knocked on the glass, but ended up smashing through it. He did that again, and the log of the cabin crumbled beneath his fist. Putting a foot through the broken wall, he stepped into the cabin quite gingerly and picked up the doll.
Again, the nursery rhyme played all the way through. It only confirmed who he already was in his mind. "Solomon Grundy."
Ivy held the bottle in her hand, taking little sprays at the shriveled weed she'd rescued from Selina's apartment block. The plant was doing a lot better - holding up its weight and sprouting leaves even, all thanks to the formula she had mixed up, aimed at nourishing it. The other plants in her apartment gazed down at their new friend, yearning for the same nourishment that the little weed found in Ivy's hands. Ironically, Ivy found herself yearning for nourishment as well. Nursing back that weed had felt satisfying to a certain degree, but not nearly enough to eclipse the immense hurt that continued to haunt her. She knew that without Penguin's funding, her own expenses would vaporize in time. She'd thought once or twice about going out with her pheromone perfume to get more of what she needed, but the truth was that she'd almost completely retreated from man's world. Since she'd returned that day after Selina was nowhere to be found, she'd not gone out once and not planned to ever again. Ivy only wanted to be with her plants... in fact, if she had it her way, she would be one of them. Blooming, beautiful and uncomplicated. Her plants would not betray her. They wouldn't harm her. They wouldn't reject her. None of the things she'd suffered under the hands of a cruel mankind.
She held the spray bottle in front of her face and swirled the liquid around and around. Its emerald hues glittered in the fading light of day. The weed had sprouted after taking in the liquid. As she watched the liquid go around and around, she wondered if she would sprout too. Taking a hold of the lid, she wound it open and held it to her lips. "Let me be one of you..." she said softly, watching the weed enthusiastically look up at her.
And with three large gulps, she ingested the formula. She put the bottle down and stood up. She didn't feel any different. She didn't feel any better. Reaching for a larger storage bottle she'd filled with the same liquid, she wound open the lid and took it all in as well. Nothing changed about her situation. She was still 'unwanted' Ivy. Unloved, used and abused. The tears began to stream down her face as anger surged within what was left of her heart. With a sweep of her hand, she knocked glass beakers off her desk, causing them to shatter upon impact. The sound of shattering glass bid her to knock more things off her desk - books, stationery, bottles. They made a cacophony of sounds as they hit the ground... and within this symphony of chaos, came the smashing of ceramic.
It made Ivy spin around to see the little weed she'd just saved, lying broken under a heap of fallen books and stationery. "NO!" she screamed, digging through the pile to rescue what once had barely thrived, only to have its stem snapped into half. "No..." she said again, crumbling to her knees. She couldn't keep alive the one final thing that held her to this life. She'd failed, and failed miserably. Cradling the broken plant in her hands, she took a final walk across her apartment, nearly blind from sobbing, and stumbled towards a shelf in her apartment where she'd kept an assortment of hazardous liquids away from the plants.
She placed the plant gently down at the side of the shelf, and picked up a bottle of toxic weed killer. That little plant had become the final trace of who she once was. She'd unknowingly extinguished that precious little life, and in turn, had become a weed killer, much like the contents in her hands. Unscrewing the bottle of weed killer, she held it to her lips. There'd be no more reason to holding onto a pointless life. She shut her eyes. Holding her breath, she took in the entire bottle. Every single drop to the last bit.
Then she waited... waited till she was finally gone from this world.
In the distance floated the words of a child's nursery rhyme, "Solomon Grundy, Born on a Monday, Christened on Tuesday, Married on Wednesday, Took ill on Thursday, Grew worse on Friday, Died on Saturday, Buried on Sunday. That was the end, Of Solomon Grundy." They echoed through the swamp from some old record, spinning around on a needle.
"Solo..." he said, listening to the rhyme play on repeat. "Solomon..." He stumbled through the woods towards the sound. It got louder and louder as he approached a small cottage in the woods where a little girl sat next to a record player, humming the tune as she played with her doll. Her back was towards him. "Grundy..."
He pressed his face against the glass. The shadow that it cast drew the little girl's attention. She screamed, dropped her doll and ran out of the cottage without even a second glance.
"Grundy..."
The doll lay askew on the floor, abandoned by its owner. Lost and alone, much like how Grundy felt at that very moment. He knocked on the glass, but ended up smashing through it. He did that again, and the log of the cabin crumbled beneath his fist. Putting a foot through the broken wall, he stepped into the cabin quite gingerly and picked up the doll.
Again, the nursery rhyme played all the way through. It only confirmed who he already was in his mind. "Solomon Grundy."
Ivy held the bottle in her hand, taking little sprays at the shriveled weed she'd rescued from Selina's apartment block. The plant was doing a lot better - holding up its weight and sprouting leaves even, all thanks to the formula she had mixed up, aimed at nourishing it. The other plants in her apartment gazed down at their new friend, yearning for the same nourishment that the little weed found in Ivy's hands. Ironically, Ivy found herself yearning for nourishment as well. Nursing back that weed had felt satisfying to a certain degree, but not nearly enough to eclipse the immense hurt that continued to haunt her. She knew that without Penguin's funding, her own expenses would vaporize in time. She'd thought once or twice about going out with her pheromone perfume to get more of what she needed, but the truth was that she'd almost completely retreated from man's world. Since she'd returned that day after Selina was nowhere to be found, she'd not gone out once and not planned to ever again. Ivy only wanted to be with her plants... in fact, if she had it her way, she would be one of them. Blooming, beautiful and uncomplicated. Her plants would not betray her. They wouldn't harm her. They wouldn't reject her. None of the things she'd suffered under the hands of a cruel mankind.
She held the spray bottle in front of her face and swirled the liquid around and around. Its emerald hues glittered in the fading light of day. The weed had sprouted after taking in the liquid. As she watched the liquid go around and around, she wondered if she would sprout too. Taking a hold of the lid, she wound it open and held it to her lips. "Let me be one of you..." she said softly, watching the weed enthusiastically look up at her.
And with three large gulps, she ingested the formula. She put the bottle down and stood up. She didn't feel any different. She didn't feel any better. Reaching for a larger storage bottle she'd filled with the same liquid, she wound open the lid and took it all in as well. Nothing changed about her situation. She was still 'unwanted' Ivy. Unloved, used and abused. The tears began to stream down her face as anger surged within what was left of her heart. With a sweep of her hand, she knocked glass beakers off her desk, causing them to shatter upon impact. The sound of shattering glass bid her to knock more things off her desk - books, stationery, bottles. They made a cacophony of sounds as they hit the ground... and within this symphony of chaos, came the smashing of ceramic.
It made Ivy spin around to see the little weed she'd just saved, lying broken under a heap of fallen books and stationery. "NO!" she screamed, digging through the pile to rescue what once had barely thrived, only to have its stem snapped into half. "No..." she said again, crumbling to her knees. She couldn't keep alive the one final thing that held her to this life. She'd failed, and failed miserably. Cradling the broken plant in her hands, she took a final walk across her apartment, nearly blind from sobbing, and stumbled towards a shelf in her apartment where she'd kept an assortment of hazardous liquids away from the plants.
She placed the plant gently down at the side of the shelf, and picked up a bottle of toxic weed killer. That little plant had become the final trace of who she once was. She'd unknowingly extinguished that precious little life, and in turn, had become a weed killer, much like the contents in her hands. Unscrewing the bottle of weed killer, she held it to her lips. There'd be no more reason to holding onto a pointless life. She shut her eyes. Holding her breath, she took in the entire bottle. Every single drop to the last bit.
Then she waited... waited till she was finally gone from this world.
Friday 1 June 2018
Chapter 38
Meryl, the steam-punk-emo-goth chick with a painted smile across her face, stepped in front of a rowdy crowd in the abandoned warehouse where they'd been meeting off and on for two years. Each time that they did, it'd always be a riot. They'd play clips of Jerome Valeska, recite his every line. How they'd mourned together at the news of his death, and when he'd returned, what a celebration it turned out to be! -- till the crooks at the G.C.P.D put him away again, of course. But they knew Jerome was going to be held back by bars. The man was a legend in more ways than one. And as predicted, Jerome escaped from Arkham during the recent break out. Meryl had called for the emergency meeting immediately - where something like fifty people turned up. And in unison, the followers of Jerome decided to hunt the city for their leader.
"Don't give up hope!" cried Meryl into the loudhailer to loud applause. "He's out there, somewhere. Out of reach of the cops, plotting his next move."
"Jerome is king!" yelled a voice in the crowd, to hoots and hollers.
"We will keep searching, and we will defend Jerome Valeska to the death!" Meryl waited for another round of applause to her charge, but a hushed silence moved through the crowd like a wave.
That was when she noticed the crowd slowly parting, much like Moses parted the Red Sea. There were gasps and sounds of sobbing, some of the members falling to their knees. In the middle of the crowd walked a man dressed up in Jerome garb... no... it was Jerome himself! Meryl fell to her knees like the others, she began sobbing uncontrollably. Life had been so dull without news of Jerome Valeska loose on the streets, making fools of the cops with his usual artistic flair. Jerome had become the soul of Gotham, the great smile in the darkness. And now, the man himself graced them with his presence.
Jerome had a large grin on his stitched up face, greeting his awestruck followers with child-like waves of his own. He made his way up to the makeshift stage, and took the microphone from a sobbing Meryl. "My dear dear dear followers," he said in that ever familiar voice. The thunderous cheer that followed could've rocked the entire building. But Jerome, in all his humility, waved down the commotion before speaking again. "I heard you were looking for me." They cheered again. But Jerome didn't wave them down a second time. "Shut up!" he yelled, and apart from some scattered laughter, the commotion died down much quicker than the first time. "Hm... So I might actually have a job for you guys."
"Anything for you king Jerome!" came a shout from the back of the crowd, to great agreement.
"That's good to hear," he replied. "The thing is, I'd like you to raid the G.C.P.D and pull the security tapes from the Arkham breakout. I want to know the identity of the man who broke into my cell." He looked down at Meryl. "And I'd like you to come with me to meet two friends of mine."
"I love you Jerome, thank you for choosing me," said Meryl between sobs.
"Yeah yeah yeah..." he said clapping his hands twice. "Well, chop chop, we don't have a lot of time."
The evening of the same day Bruce got himself discharged from Gotham General, he had Alfred drive him to the address of the Welkin household. It was in a respectable neighborhood in the suburbs of Gotham - not quite as luxurious as his own, but with its own grocery shop, high school and playground, wasn't too shabby either.
A middle-aged woman came to the door, wrapped in a shawl. "Yes?"
"Mrs. Welkin," Bruce reached out to her, and she met him in a handshake. "My name is Bruce Wayne. I'd like to ask you a few questions about your husband, if you don't mind?"
"What? Of Wayne Enterprises?" she said, surprised. She tightened the shawl around her shoulders, and swept the stray hair away from her face in a feeble attempt to be slightly more presentable. "You should've called. I'm a mess!" She laughed bashfully.
"Mrs. Welkin, there really is no need. And I'm sorry I didn't call beforehand. There's something very urgent I need to discuss with you."
"Oh yes! Sorry for my manners," she moved aside. "Please come in and make yourself at home."
As Bruce entered the house, he gave a reassuring nod to Alfred who continued to stand by the car. Alfred had wanted to follow, but Bruce would not allow it. Alfred had reluctantly relented. He knew that Bruce was growing into a man, and would need him less and less - it didn't stop him from worrying about him constantly as though he were his very own son.
Mrs. Welkin's living room was spacious and thoughtfully designed. Every piece of furniture matching the next, not to mention the wall to wall coverage of bookshelves filled with books. Bruce moved to her rose lined linen sofa and took a seat.
"Let me make you some tea or coffee, which would you prefer Mr Wayne?"
"Really, there is no need," insisted Bruce. Her hospitality was much appreciated but he wanted to get down to business as soon as possible. "Please sit with me, if you wouldn't mind?"
She seemed a little conflicted between being a good host and adhering to his wishes, but she finally decided to sit next to him.
"I'm sorry for the intrusion Mrs. Welkin. I've just been doing some research on your husband, Mr. Welkin, and discovered that he's been missing since a year ago."
The woman nodded soberly. "I lodged a report to the G.C.P.D but apparently there was some odd record of him purchasing a ticket to Columbia, and a really suspicious deposit of fifty-thousand dollars into his private bank account. After a moderately short investigation, the G.C.P.D decided that Harold must've had some financial dealings that got him into trouble and fled the country to avoid facing the consequences. But that's impossible! Harold's never been that irresponsible. He's also never told me a thing about any suspicious financial deal - nor has he ever been to any part of South America. It's just not like him. Harold's always been an avid bookworm who's always loved the familiar, and never thought much of risk-taking. He loved his research, said he wished the world took more time to learn about the world they lived in."
"Do you know what he was researching right before his disappearance?"
"The Gotham quake of 1728, he was on television..."
"Yes, I saw him then," Bruce chimed in. "He seemed very certain about his convictions of a quake occurring in the near future that might devastate the city."
Mrs. Welkin nodded. "The ground beneath Gotham has become increasingly unstable. If you weren't aware, about seventy percent of Gotham is built over ancient swampland. Harold always believed it was very irresponsible of the city planners to construct skyscrapers on land that might not be able to bear the weight. In the realm of architecture, every possibility has to be meticulously calculated and evaluated. With an abundance of overweight structures sitting on already unstable land, it might only take a tectonic shift from a distance away to sink the entire city."
"Was Dr. Welkin able to predict the next tectonic shift?"
Mrs. Welkin nodded, then excused herself to retrieve a calendar belonging to her husband. It had all kinds of scribbles of events and dates written all over it. Circles marked in red and black. She pointed out a span of seven days underlined in red. "That's when he thinks the next tectonic shift will be. It's a whole city away, but he thinks it might affect Gotham in a similar way that the shift hurt the early incarnation of the city."
Bruce took a look at the dates marked out. "But Mrs. Welkin, that's just a few days away."
"Exactly."
"And you aren't afraid? I see that there's nothing packed."
"Mr. Wayne," she said, putting a hand on his. "Harold's attempt to warn the city of impending doom was what I believe caused his disappearance. The media won't tell this part of the story, but I believe that there are evil people out there who will do everything to silence the truth-tellers. If Harold is gone, then the heralding of the quake is his legacy. I will sit in this very spot to see it come to fruition, and I will watch all those who silenced him get eclipsed by what is to come."
The woman spoke of a bleak future, and yet she seemed excited to relish in the deaths of those who might've gone against her husband, even if it'd mean the deaths of many more. "Who do you think would have reason to silence your husband?"
"For a start... the execs at the Gotham Broadcasting Station. They'd said they were very interested in Harold's research right after his live broadcast. He was so excited then, said that people were finally paying attention to him, and maybe something will finally be done to save Gotham. But it was that same week that he vanished and never came home again. A week after that, Sionis Design House announced yet another ambitious construction project. But I'm just sitting here thinking; who in the right mind would put money into any form of new construction in Gotham if Harold is indeed right?"
"Mrs. Welkin, do you remember who at the station in particular was in contact with him? Did you ever get a name?"
"Yes, Mr. Wayne," she replied with certainty. "A Mrs. Katherine Monroe."
"Don't give up hope!" cried Meryl into the loudhailer to loud applause. "He's out there, somewhere. Out of reach of the cops, plotting his next move."
"Jerome is king!" yelled a voice in the crowd, to hoots and hollers.
"We will keep searching, and we will defend Jerome Valeska to the death!" Meryl waited for another round of applause to her charge, but a hushed silence moved through the crowd like a wave.
That was when she noticed the crowd slowly parting, much like Moses parted the Red Sea. There were gasps and sounds of sobbing, some of the members falling to their knees. In the middle of the crowd walked a man dressed up in Jerome garb... no... it was Jerome himself! Meryl fell to her knees like the others, she began sobbing uncontrollably. Life had been so dull without news of Jerome Valeska loose on the streets, making fools of the cops with his usual artistic flair. Jerome had become the soul of Gotham, the great smile in the darkness. And now, the man himself graced them with his presence.
Jerome had a large grin on his stitched up face, greeting his awestruck followers with child-like waves of his own. He made his way up to the makeshift stage, and took the microphone from a sobbing Meryl. "My dear dear dear followers," he said in that ever familiar voice. The thunderous cheer that followed could've rocked the entire building. But Jerome, in all his humility, waved down the commotion before speaking again. "I heard you were looking for me." They cheered again. But Jerome didn't wave them down a second time. "Shut up!" he yelled, and apart from some scattered laughter, the commotion died down much quicker than the first time. "Hm... So I might actually have a job for you guys."
"Anything for you king Jerome!" came a shout from the back of the crowd, to great agreement.
"That's good to hear," he replied. "The thing is, I'd like you to raid the G.C.P.D and pull the security tapes from the Arkham breakout. I want to know the identity of the man who broke into my cell." He looked down at Meryl. "And I'd like you to come with me to meet two friends of mine."
"I love you Jerome, thank you for choosing me," said Meryl between sobs.
"Yeah yeah yeah..." he said clapping his hands twice. "Well, chop chop, we don't have a lot of time."
The evening of the same day Bruce got himself discharged from Gotham General, he had Alfred drive him to the address of the Welkin household. It was in a respectable neighborhood in the suburbs of Gotham - not quite as luxurious as his own, but with its own grocery shop, high school and playground, wasn't too shabby either.
A middle-aged woman came to the door, wrapped in a shawl. "Yes?"
"Mrs. Welkin," Bruce reached out to her, and she met him in a handshake. "My name is Bruce Wayne. I'd like to ask you a few questions about your husband, if you don't mind?"
"What? Of Wayne Enterprises?" she said, surprised. She tightened the shawl around her shoulders, and swept the stray hair away from her face in a feeble attempt to be slightly more presentable. "You should've called. I'm a mess!" She laughed bashfully.
"Mrs. Welkin, there really is no need. And I'm sorry I didn't call beforehand. There's something very urgent I need to discuss with you."
"Oh yes! Sorry for my manners," she moved aside. "Please come in and make yourself at home."
As Bruce entered the house, he gave a reassuring nod to Alfred who continued to stand by the car. Alfred had wanted to follow, but Bruce would not allow it. Alfred had reluctantly relented. He knew that Bruce was growing into a man, and would need him less and less - it didn't stop him from worrying about him constantly as though he were his very own son.
Mrs. Welkin's living room was spacious and thoughtfully designed. Every piece of furniture matching the next, not to mention the wall to wall coverage of bookshelves filled with books. Bruce moved to her rose lined linen sofa and took a seat.
"Let me make you some tea or coffee, which would you prefer Mr Wayne?"
"Really, there is no need," insisted Bruce. Her hospitality was much appreciated but he wanted to get down to business as soon as possible. "Please sit with me, if you wouldn't mind?"
She seemed a little conflicted between being a good host and adhering to his wishes, but she finally decided to sit next to him.
"I'm sorry for the intrusion Mrs. Welkin. I've just been doing some research on your husband, Mr. Welkin, and discovered that he's been missing since a year ago."
The woman nodded soberly. "I lodged a report to the G.C.P.D but apparently there was some odd record of him purchasing a ticket to Columbia, and a really suspicious deposit of fifty-thousand dollars into his private bank account. After a moderately short investigation, the G.C.P.D decided that Harold must've had some financial dealings that got him into trouble and fled the country to avoid facing the consequences. But that's impossible! Harold's never been that irresponsible. He's also never told me a thing about any suspicious financial deal - nor has he ever been to any part of South America. It's just not like him. Harold's always been an avid bookworm who's always loved the familiar, and never thought much of risk-taking. He loved his research, said he wished the world took more time to learn about the world they lived in."
"Do you know what he was researching right before his disappearance?"
"The Gotham quake of 1728, he was on television..."
"Yes, I saw him then," Bruce chimed in. "He seemed very certain about his convictions of a quake occurring in the near future that might devastate the city."
Mrs. Welkin nodded. "The ground beneath Gotham has become increasingly unstable. If you weren't aware, about seventy percent of Gotham is built over ancient swampland. Harold always believed it was very irresponsible of the city planners to construct skyscrapers on land that might not be able to bear the weight. In the realm of architecture, every possibility has to be meticulously calculated and evaluated. With an abundance of overweight structures sitting on already unstable land, it might only take a tectonic shift from a distance away to sink the entire city."
"Was Dr. Welkin able to predict the next tectonic shift?"
Mrs. Welkin nodded, then excused herself to retrieve a calendar belonging to her husband. It had all kinds of scribbles of events and dates written all over it. Circles marked in red and black. She pointed out a span of seven days underlined in red. "That's when he thinks the next tectonic shift will be. It's a whole city away, but he thinks it might affect Gotham in a similar way that the shift hurt the early incarnation of the city."
Bruce took a look at the dates marked out. "But Mrs. Welkin, that's just a few days away."
"Exactly."
"And you aren't afraid? I see that there's nothing packed."
"Mr. Wayne," she said, putting a hand on his. "Harold's attempt to warn the city of impending doom was what I believe caused his disappearance. The media won't tell this part of the story, but I believe that there are evil people out there who will do everything to silence the truth-tellers. If Harold is gone, then the heralding of the quake is his legacy. I will sit in this very spot to see it come to fruition, and I will watch all those who silenced him get eclipsed by what is to come."
The woman spoke of a bleak future, and yet she seemed excited to relish in the deaths of those who might've gone against her husband, even if it'd mean the deaths of many more. "Who do you think would have reason to silence your husband?"
"For a start... the execs at the Gotham Broadcasting Station. They'd said they were very interested in Harold's research right after his live broadcast. He was so excited then, said that people were finally paying attention to him, and maybe something will finally be done to save Gotham. But it was that same week that he vanished and never came home again. A week after that, Sionis Design House announced yet another ambitious construction project. But I'm just sitting here thinking; who in the right mind would put money into any form of new construction in Gotham if Harold is indeed right?"
"Mrs. Welkin, do you remember who at the station in particular was in contact with him? Did you ever get a name?"
"Yes, Mr. Wayne," she replied with certainty. "A Mrs. Katherine Monroe."
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