Batman

THE FLUTTER OF BROKEN WINGS

By Jason McDonald

Ward 13

Somewhere Dirty, Dark and Cold

Where Time Has Little Meaning…

Her eyes felt puffy and dry, and something inside her aching stomach shifted with each laborious breath she took.

The world spun around her addled mind, and she could see nothing but a swirling pool of inky darkness and sparkling, twinkling lights. There was a wet, coppery taste inside her mouth and she spat out something thick and red onto the floor below her, more out of instinct than anything else. Each exhalation reminded her of a previous kick, or a punch, or a stomp that had been unleashed upon her unprotected form. Each throb against the inside of her bruising skull sounded like the merciless thud of boot heels against the ground or the rapping of hard, unforgiving wood against pulpy, meaty flesh.

It had been weeks since she’d been abducted. So many long, terrible, unforgiving weeks of pain, and mutilation and misery. Memories stretching through the long, terrible void, interspersed with endless flashes of deep hunger pangs and shaky, sweaty exhaustion.

Weeks? Or had it only been days?

Shrouded in darkness and swimming in misery, the blurry pieces of her fractured, fragmented mind just couldn’t piece the whole puzzle together anymore. She groaned, slowly returning to a semblance of consciousness.

“B-b-Burt?” She whispered into the darkness, stumbling atop the words. Her jaw – a moving, fractured thing – shifted around as she spoke. “Are you t-t-there, Burt?”

She blinked and looked around in the darkness, seeing nothing but the empty room. Burt Weston – her cellmate – was gone.

He must have taken Burt.

The Man in Black.

She shivered suddenly, her wary mind drifting back to thoughts of her monstrous captor. It had been only hours since her last beating, and his ominous words still lingered in her badly-concussed mind:

*SNAP!*

“Awww, the little Magpie’s went and broke her other wing. Now that’s just too bad. A wretched, worthless little murderer like you deserves no less.”

*CRUNCH!*

“Besides which, that spaghetti arm is the least of your worries. I know how much you and your little buddy here are looking forward to electro-shock time, aren’t you? Yes, you know you are…

*KICK!!*

“I know, I know. You’re jealous he gets to go first, right? Don’t worry, you get to join him right afterwards. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

*THWACK!*

*THWACK!*

*THWACK!*

The useless arm laid limp atop her body, unmoving. Still in the same position he’d left it. Still in the same state he’d left her. She could feel the arm’s weight bearing down against her aching ribs.

A sudden cough and she felt the serpentine thing shift down her rib cage toward her stomach, moving in a chaotic path all its own. The pain was unbearable, shooting up the length of her shattered arm in waves, sounding off with a bright blast of fireworks in her tortured mind. And yet, her throat was simply too raw to cry out. Her mind thrashed and screamed and shouted from the hurt, but her tired body only released a soft, pathetic, continuous moan until the arm finally reached its resting place somewhere along her sunken stomach and shredded clothes. New aches and pains screeched along her nervous system. Her body began shaking involuntarily again, and she wondered when it would all just stop.

Was it wrong to want to die? Magpie thought to herself, unable to wipe the tears flowing from her bruised eyes and pooling along the dirty floor. Was it wrong to pray for the sweet release of death?

That was when the image of her father – her wonderful, beautiful guardian – drifted through her mind. Amidst the pool of darkness swimming around her, she could almost see him clearly, his warm smile outlined against the sparkling and shining light of the angels.

“Hold on, my little Magpie. Just hold on a little longer…”

She sighed, pushing the pain away from her. She closed her bloodshot eyes and nodded her head.

“Okay, d-d-daddy,” she whispered through cracked lips. “J-just a little longer.”

Tears flowed from her eyes as the broken Magpie lay sprawled across the dirty floor in the comforting cloak of darkness, and waited.

Waited for her mighty savior to come rescue her.

Arkham Asylum

On a Distant Rooftop Facing the Asylum

Nighttime

The dark storm clouds surged as a devastating thunderclap roared across the horizon. The crackles of electric lightning flashing above cast an eerie violet tint to the otherwise blackened storm clouds, themselves threatening to burst forth with a massive deluge from the heavens right then and there. The furious winds bellowed, slicing through the sky with reckless abandon as two more roars of quaking thunder sounded in the distance. The dark knight’s heart began to pound, echoing the electric excitement of the night.

He gripped his binoculars tightly, once more glad he’d waterproofed nearly all of his many gadgets long ago. The device whirred with a click, focus sharpening upon a bird’s eye view on the asylum before him. The surrounding yards were cast in a billowy fog, and the gothic arches and old style architecture made restless those dark, subconscious fears that laid somewhere in the periphery in all men’s minds. Anyone else looking upon the facade would wonder where the ghosts laid, and would shiver at the haunted terror before them.

The Batman simply hummed quietly, curious at how peaceful Arkham looked from his rooftop vantage point. He knew that Arkham’s haunting facade was not nearly as terrifying as what laid within: the cackling of lunatics and madman echoing across the halls, plotting sadistic new methods of murder and mayhem with each draw of breath.

Another zoom-in, and he could see where the haunts ended and where the science began. Guards in riot gear stood watch near the front gate, and the surrounding fences now held a rusted assortment of barbed wire wrapped around the tops, as well as recently-installed warning signs that indicated the fences were electrified. There were dark, silent guard towers intermittently shining floodlights along the grounds, albeit in somewhat predictable patterns. From his recent visit to the asylum as Bruce Wayne, he’d seen indications of interior and exterior alarm systems, further proved by the procedural nature by which he’d been escorted in and out.

Likely a laser grid, rather than pressure sensors, the dark knight thought.

Warden Lyle Bolton had given the entirety of Arkham Asylum an overhaul in security. Learning from the Arkham’s abysmal track record of inmate escapes, security at Arkham was now tighter than it had ever been. Bolton treated the facility more like a prison than a mental institution. Given Bolton’s beginnings as a security guard for Blackgate Penitentiary, Batman was hardly surprised.

However, that wasn’t the reason he was here.

Warden Lyle Bolton – who moonlighted on the streets of Gotham as the villainous Lock-Up – had masterminded the kidnappings of both Magpie and Film Freak, after engineering their recent returns to crime. In doing so, he made a nearly-airtight case against the criminal justice system. He had used these examples to successfully lobby for more security, and stricter security policies within the Asylum. He used their crime sprees as justification for his abusive prisoner treatment – which likely included a policy of sadism, cruelty, and a systematic degradation of their human rights, given what he’d seen of the man’s conduct as Lock-Up. Bolton had also fired the previous asylum guards, replacing them with people loyal only to him. From what Bruce Wayne had seen, these forces likely shared the same sadistic tendencies as Bolton did.

Warden Bolton was hiding Magpie and Film Freak within the newly-established Thirteenth Ward of the asylum. Ward 13 had once been a completely abandoned part of the facility. It was where the late founder of the asylum – Amadeus Arkham – had performed hideous, monstrous experiments on the asylum inmates – including Mad Dog Hawkins, the inmate that had escaped and slaughtered Amadeus’s entire family. Amadeus was discovered, of course, and imprisoned in the same asylum he once controlled. Nevertheless, the corridor had still been there, the entire time, sealed off. From the door and the scuff marks Bruce Wayne had seen upon the floor while inside, the dark knight detective knew that the renovation of Ward 13 had been very recent.

He had also seen how the inmates now looked during his last visit. If the prisoners outside Ward 13 had looked like that – severely malnourished, mistreated, tortured – who knew what he would find within that ward. Batman knew he had to get to the two kidnapped villains soon. Warden Bolton was an individual utterly obsessed with keeping his inmates contained, and saw no redeeming qualities in the criminal element whatsoever. He was a vigilante who saw the world only in black and white. Against a mindset like that, prisoner rights, parole hearings, treatment facilities and early releases were merely obstacles preventing the meting out of true justice upon the wicked. His quarrel was with the entire flawed justice system itself.

Within that system, Magpie and Film Freak were now liabilities to him. They were evidence of kidnapping and assault, which would endanger his position as warden and prevent him from meting out his brand of cruel justice. In that respect, his obsessive tendencies would convince him to keep them alive long enough to suffer. Bolton was not a foolish man, however. He’d get around to disposing them eventually.

Which was why he had to break into Arkham tonight. Penetrate the Thirteenth Ward. Save the lives of those criminals and expose the warden’s mad plans to the world. Magpie and Film Freak were hardly innocents, both guilty of murder, and needed to be locked up.

However, where Batman saw therapy as the next step in their rehabilitation, Bolton saw two bullets with their names on it. The homicidal warden needed to be stopped. Now.

That was when he heard it: the soft pitter-patter of footsteps behind him. Too soft to belong to the bulky weight of the muscled Lock-Up. The small, gentle footsteps of a female, clad in a cat-suit made of black leather. With the whipping winds, he almost missed her heady scent in the air.

“Selina,” the dark vigilante stated, not turning around.

“Hello, Bruce,” the beautiful woman said, carrying the syllable of his name with a seductive purr. She walked out from behind the stone chimney she had been hiding behind, idly drawing a clawed finger against the stone to draw his attention.

The dark knight turned slowly to face her, and saw the leather-clad woman smile with lips of deepest red.

“What are you doing here?” Batman asked.

“Actually, that’s what I came to ask you,” she said. “Find your little mockingbird yet?”

“Magpie,” he corrected. “Yes, I know where she is.”

Catwoman removed her large green goggles and kept her gaze trained on the dark knight. “Good detective.”

Batman grunted as she strode over towards him, unfazed by the thunder overhead.

“You’re thinking of breaking into that asylum, aren’t you?” she said, the seductive tone sliding into her voice. The bullwhip attached to her side began to shake with each violent gust of wind, but it was still locked securely onto her tight belt.

“She’s in there,” Batman said, “and she’s in trouble.”

“Ever the gallant knight,” Catwoman said playfully, narrowing her eyes at him. She sheathed her claws and ran her finger along his chest emblem. “Shame you don’t run after me when I get into trouble.”

“This is serious, Selina,” the caped crusader said, grabbing her shoulders suddenly. She tensed up, surprised by his sudden movements. “Both Magpie and Film Freak are being detained inside.”

“Well, it is where nut jobs like that belong, isn’t it?” she pouted. “Mission accomplished.”

Batman sighed in frustration. “The Man in Black you saw in the alley? That was the new warden – Lyle Bolton. He has total control of the facility. If I don’t get in there tonight, those two will likely be dead by morning.”

“You’re kidding,” Catwoman breathed out. “Why would he kidnap–“

“They’re not officially on the inmate roster. He doesn’t have to explain away their deaths in the facility because officially, they were never there.”

The sensual beauty’s eyes opened wide. “I see.”

Batman turned away from her again, peering at the facility beyond through his binoculars. Catwoman pulled her cat’s eye goggles back over her eyes and activated the zoom-in feature, so she could see what he saw.

“A break-in,” she cooed. “Sounds like a nice date.”

“No,” Batman said.

“No? You don’t think so?”

“I don’t think you’re invited,” he countered. Catwoman looked over toward the dark knight, frowning sharply.

Pulling out a small device from his belt, he held it in his right hand as he continued to gaze at the distant mental facility beyond.

“What’s that?” she asked.

Batman glanced sideways at her, frowning.

The dark knight pressed the button and Catwoman heard a rumble in the distance that sounded different than the rumbling thunder. Suddenly, she saw every floodlight and spotlight outside of Arkham switch off, plunging the entire manor into a state of sudden darkness. She switched her goggles to night-vision, noting the chaos erupting between the assembled guards as they tried to figure out what was going on.

“Bruce, what did you–?”

“This wasn’t my first stop tonight, Selina,” he said, pocketing the small device smoothly. “The power lines below this building are directly accessible by the sewer system. A flaw even Bolton was unaware of.”

“Why Bruce, you sneaky little–“

“You’re staying here. I’m doing this alone.”

“You need help and you know it,” she said, crossing her arms with a stubborn glare.

“I’ll be fine, Selina,” he said as he pulled the grappler from his belt. He aimed it at the building, firing a line that reached above the guard towers.

The shadowed knight looked back at the leather-clad beauty as a final goodbye. He pulled against the taut line, testing it before pressing the retractor button that would send him rushing down to the Asylum below them. As the taut line began to retract, Batman brought his attention back to the rope.

In that fraction of an instant, Catwoman smiled.

“Like hell you will,” she said, leaping onto the dark knight’s chest and hugging her arms and legs behind his back just as the retractor device began to pick him off the ground. His head whipped around, eyes opened wide in total shock as he found himself gazing into Selina’s beautiful green eyes mere inches away from his. He could see her wide smile and felt her hot breath on his cheek.

Completely unprepared by her sudden movements, there was no way for him to stop the retractor mechanism or break away from her grip without risking both of their lives. The couple lifted off the rooftop and rocketed towards the asylum, pulled along hard by his powerful grappling line. He grasped her back and pressed her body against his in order to keep her from falling and to keep their weight centered against the pull. She tightened her grip around him for very different reasons. Catwoman planted a small kiss upon his cheek.

“Catwoman,” he growled in frustration.

“My hero,” she whispered into his ear with a smile as they sailed – however unwillingly – toward the dark asylum.

The Hallway Outside Ward 13

Sometime Later…

The dark knight chose his steps carefully, making his way through the tangled mess of downed riot guards littering the hallway of the ward. He searched for any feigning opponents or unwanted surprises among the unconscious bodies.

Hmmm, he thought to himself, noting how few of them there were compared to just a few minutes ago. Where are the others?

There had been a litany of guards upon both him and Catwoman once the back-up generators had kicked in. Catwoman had been in the middle of opening the door to the cell block at the time, alerting the guards instantly to their position. It had been a difficult fight, to say the least. Batman counted fifteen guards sprawled out amongst the floor, knowing that the battle had involved at least twice that number.

Batman and Catwoman had been a blur of motion – a mass of surgical strikes and knockout punches paired with the sounding crash of a constantly-lashing bullwhip. It had been lucky for them that they’d encountered the guards in steady waves of five to seven apiece – if it had been all thirty of them at once, they would have been immediately subdued. He realized that he must have lost track of Catwoman somewhere around the third wave or so.

She must have led them off to another part of the facility, he thought. Nevertheless, he couldn’t chase after her yet. There was one thing he had to do first.

The dark knight listened to the tired, weak moans of hungry prisoners trapped inside this secret ward within the halls of Arkham Asylum. Many of them looked badly emaciated and bruised severely. The beatings and cruelty they must have endured to leave them in this state…

The dark knight suppressed an angry growl and ran down the hallway, checking each locked cell for his quarry.

Selina can take care of herself, he thought, steeling his mind for the task ahead. I must reach Film Freak and Magpie before Lock-Up can–

That was when he found her.

Batman’s eyes opened in horror as he gazed down at the still, breathless form of Margaret Pye – otherwise known as Magpie.

Margaret’s still body lay sprawled across the dirty floor, her limbs twisted like a pretzel. Her bony frame was outlined by the shredded remains of what once had been a costume – now a red-and-white set of rags that lay loosely atop her otherwise naked body. Her arm hung limply attached to her shoulder, resting twisted and useless against her clearly-shrunken stomach. The dark detective could see Margaret’s misshapen, xylophone ribs through the tattered remains of her Magpie costume. He remembered how perfectly her lithe, toned body had once filled out that costume, horrified to see the once skintight outfit hanging loosely against her. Considering how much weight she’d lost in the six days she’d been held in captivity, it looked like she hadn’t been fed once.

Her glassy eyes looked up toward him lifelessly, her cracked lips seemingly frozen in a silent, endless scream.

“My God,” he breathed out in a hushed whisper. “I’m too late.”

The man in the black costume closed his eyes, silently condemning himself for not solving this puzzle sooner – not getting to her in time. Bruce Wayne sighed heavily, grasping at the bridge of his nose with his fingers in helpless frustration. He allowed the anguish to wash over him, closing his eyes and observing a moment of silence for the fallen Magpie. He gritted his teeth, and a low, guttural, grinding growl escaped from the back of his throat.

When he opened his eyes, he was the dark knight detective once again. His cold, unflinching gaze took in the scene around him, absorbing the evidence with the sharp skill needed to piece together the chain of events.

Broken jaw. Fractured elbows. Dislocated shoulder. Shattered digits and feet. Bruised skull, likely cracked. Emaciated body. Numerous contusions. Evidence of internal injuries. Broken pelvis. Punctured eardrum. Broken nose. Swollen eye. Surrounded in shreds of costume and blood. Time of death likely occurred–

He breathed in, drawing in the unkempt smells of the unwashed prison. He looked upon the trail of blood dripping out of Margaret’s opened lips, noticing that the mucousy film of blood and saliva seemed fresh and still-wet.

Still dripping.

Time of death–

Batman heard a sudden squeak. He turned around to the opened cell door and realized that it hadn’t squeaked when he’d entered, and therefore couldn’t have squeaked just now. The sound didn’t come from the metal behind him. His eyes instead wandered back toward the unmoving woman in front of him.

As he did so, he noticed another drip of bloody drool trail down from Margaret’s parted lips. He focused almost immediately upon her glassy eyes, on instinct. He gasped as he saw them quickly dilate, then slowly blink.

The squeak turned into a low, gasping sound. The sound of pained exhalation. Margaret’s body coughed, wincing in pain with the movement of broken ribs.

“Magpie?” Batman’s eyes widened, as her once-glassy stare began to focus on him.

“p-p-plez don–“ she whispered lightly, trembling as her face twisted into a gaze of hurtful fear. “–plez don hur’me–“

Batman knelt down beside her, unlacing his cape and draping it across the woman’s half-naked frame. He replied in a softer, soothing tone. “No, I won’t hurt you.”

The dark knight glanced down at her, watching her xylophone ribs expand and contract with the sounds of her soft breaths.

She froze up, he realized, pulling one of the pillows off her vacant bed and placing it below her head. It was too dangerous to move her up from the floor in her condition.

She thought I was Bolton. She was playing dead for as long as she could hold her breath.

Batman smiled down at her. Good girl.

He foraged around in his belt, producing a small Dasani water bottle and a pack of peanut butter crackers. The Batman remembered how irritated Bruce Wayne had been with Alfred when he’d smartly suggested packing snacks during Batman’s nightly excursions to keep him hydrated and full. The stern butler had told Master Bruce that a good detective can hardly battle criminals while battling an empty stomach.

The dark knight detective fed the water and the crackers to the nearly-starved woman beside him. Magpie gulped it down as eagerly as her emaciated form and badly-shrunken stomach would allow. Letting out a sigh of relief, he decided he wasn’t mad at Alfred anymore.

“D-d-daddy sed you’d come,” she spoke out, gulping down bits of cracker as she did so. “Daddy sez you c’n help me n’ Burt ‘scape. Es-c-c-cape…”

As the Batman checked her body for other wounds, his attention focused like a laser sight upon hearing the name that had escaped her lips. “Burt? Burt Weston was here?”

“B-B-Burt. Yez, Burt…”

The detective’s sharp mind kicked in. He glanced over to the area beside her – to the other nest of torn fabric and dried bloodstains. He’d been too distracted by Magpie’s injuries to realize those fabrics were from a completely different costume. They looked like they could have come from a black jacket, like the one Burt Weston – the Film Freak – tended to wear. Like the one he was wearing right before his abduction in the bank videotape.

“Magpie, can you tell me where he is now?”

Margaret groaned, trying to shake the fog from her badly-concussed head. The dark knight brushed her hair back out of her face and gazed into her pupils, trying to determine the extent of the concussion.

“Margaret, I know it hurts right now, but I need you to tell me where Bolton took Burt. Can you do that for me?”

Margaret blinked her eyes, and licked her lips. “L-L-Lec…’lectroshock. Electroshock…Treatment…R-R-Room. I–I think he took him there. He’s gon’ take us…both there…”

Electroshock Therapy. Too much like a criminal’s end at the electric chair to be a coincidence.

It was likely Bolton’s endgame. Since they were liabilities to him now, Bolton would probably attempt to use that method to perform the executions. Lock-Up had built himself up as an avatar of justice. In his mind, dangerous criminals deserved the death penalty. No second chances, no rehabilitations, regardless of mental illness.

The simplicity of that assessment disgusted the dark knight, especially in the face of someone such as Margaret Pye. Of course, since Bolton didn’t believe in second chances, he would naturally have no use for measure like electroshock therapy except as a torture device, or a means to an end.

Batman grunted. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

The dark knight looked down at Magpie’s fluttery eyelids, then glanced over at the space were Film Freak had been, wondering if he was still alive.

I can’t be in two places at once. Margaret Pye cannot be allowed to fall asleep. I don’t want to do this, but–

Batman looked into Margaret’s eyes, pupils badly-dilated, knowing that her vision was blurring as the concussion was getting worse. He needed to do this quickly.

“Margaret, I need you to listen to me. This is going to hurt.”

“Hurt? You sed you won’hurt. You p-p-promised.”

“Margaret,” the dark knight said forcefully. “Your shoulder is dislocated. I need to set it in order for it to heal properly. I need you to focus on the pain and stay conscious for me. Alright?”

“The pain? Which–which pain am I–?”

“Just focus on the pain,” he spoke in a deep baritone, reaching up toward her dislocated shoulder and bracing himself. “It will help keep you conscious.”

“C-c-conscience…why do I need–?”

CRACK.

Arkham Asylum

Near the Outer Halls

Cat Calls

“We’ve got to find her,” the guards in riot gear growled, leading a host of his colleagues through the hallways. “She can’t have gotten far!”

The thunderous cacophony of riot guard boots echoed throughout the halls as they followed the predatory sound of a cat’s hiss out from the shadowy cell blocks, stalking their prey through the corridors towards the offices lining the outer halls of the prison.

“All clear on our right!” one of the men called out to the team leader.

“All clear on the left!” another man called out.

“Where is this damn bitch?” growled the team leader in frustration, gesturing two more men to search further out.

“Sir, I’m telling you, she’s not trying to escape. She’s leading us away from the real enemy here – the Bat!” one of the greener guards grunted.

Masterson – the team leader – cocked his rifle, turning to glare at the soldier who would question orders. “One more peep from you, Henderson, and I’ll shove this rifle up your–!”

Just then, a flurry of red and blue lights cascaded in from the outside through the office windows.

“It’s the police,” Masterson chuckled to himself. “Must have been alerted to our situation once the power went down. Took them long enough to get here.”

He turned to address the men. “Lets show them in, boys! Backup has arrived.”

As Masterson and the other guards walked towards the front to greet the oncoming police squad, a lithe form in body-hugging leather licked her lips and watched intently from her perch on the ceiling. She smiled, watching the men in riot gear filter out toward the police lights one-by-one like little toy soldiers.

You’re right, she thought wickedly. Backup has arrived.

She listened to the police sirens and retreated from the sounds of rising voices and increasingly-hostile misunderstandings behind her as she bit her ruby red lips.

Now it’s time to collect what we came for.

She stalked through the shadows above, tracing her way back into the labyrinth depths of the dark asylum.

Arkham Asylum

Electroshock Treatment Room

End of the Line

“Arrested? What do you mean you’re being arrested?” Lyle Bolton – the asylum’s homicidal warden – roared into the radio receiver hanging from his ear as he listened to the words of Kyle Masterson, senior leader of his riot guards.

The warden tightened his grip on his wooden baton, which was still strapped snugly to the belt of his Lock-up costume, frustration welling within him as he struggled to discern what was happening through the radio’s intense static interference. The two guards accompanying him – both dressed in a similar style of riot gear – glanced in Bolton’s direction, panic spreading across their faces as their boss growled fiercely.

They knew exactly how bad things tended to get when Bolton was this angry, especially when he was in full costume.

“Masterson! You tell those goddamn cops that we’ve got things under control here! You send those bastards down to my office, and I’ll set this whole thing straight!”

Lock-Up glared angrily at the other two guards as he listened, firing off a warning glance that shook them straight to their souls. In a flurry of motion, the guards put the finishing touches on the electroshock therapy setup, strapping their captive – the brutalized Film Freak – in tightly. The guard named Dodson began testing the electrostatic discharge rates of the machine while Lock-Up listened to the sounds of his well-laid plans falling to pieces around him.

“Masterson, you get them in here now, or I’ll have your hide!” the villain snapped. “Masterson, do you hear me? MASTERSON??”

The warden clenched his teeth as the signal finally broke up.

“Piece of shit!” he growled before ripping the radio off his ear and tossing the useless device onto the tiled floor. “Reynolds! Get that pathetic bitch Magpie in here right now, before those fucking cops breach the ward! There can’t be any evidence that Magpie or Film Freak were ever here. Dodson, how are we looking on the voltage?”

“Safety limits have been countermanded. We’re ready to use lethal juice.”

“Perfect,” Bolton watched the petrified Reynolds shoot through the treatment room door. The warden cast a sidelong smile at Dodson. “Though, let’s not make that first jolt too fatal. After all, we’ve got a few minutes to kill before Reynolds gets back with our little Magpie. Let’s make this fucker scream before he dies.”

“You got it, boss,” Dodson smiled at the warden maliciously, licking his lips and adjusting the voltage on the electroshock device accordingly before a loud clatter sounded from outside the door. Bolton whipped his gaze around to the entrance, eyes opening wide as the door splintered inward, thrown off its hinges by Reynolds’ slack, unconscious form.

“What the–?” Dodson recoiled in shock as a dark figure swooped in through the door right behind the fallen riot guard.

“Fire, you idiot! It’s the goddamned Bat–!” Lock-Up said, gripping at his baton when, out of nowhere, a massive metal weight collided directly into his face. The costumed warden clutched at his bleeding mouth in pain as the gas canister clattered to the floor and began to spew choking tear gas in every direction.

Dodson unhooked his taser from his belt and brought his weapon to bear against the dark knight, just as a batarang sliced through the air and knocked the taser halfway across the room. The stunned guard stumbled backward, his eyes scrambling to find the lost weapon amidst the chaos occurring around him, before his world fell out through his stomach.

Batman followed the solid, furious gut punch with a hard left cross, cracking the riot guard’s face plate. Dodson didn’t even have time to scream as the final hard blow shattered through the face shield, colliding into his unprotected nose. The riot guard fell to the floor like so much dead weight.

Lock-up began to choke from the billowing tear gas. The homicidal madman covered his bloodied mouth and tried not to breath in the noxious vapor, kicking the canister off toward the other side of the room as he did so. As his eyes began to puff up from the exposure to the gas, he was infuriated to see the hated vigilante standing triumphant over the slackened form of the now-unconscious Dodson. The furious warden clutched at his deadly stun gun and – with a howl of rage – fired the weapon at the dark knight.

The electric metal prongs shot quickly towards the Batman who – timing Lock-Up’s movements out of the corner of his eye – side-stepped the prongs with ease and sent a trio of batarangs whipping through the air. The razor-sharp projectiles sliced through both sets of the stun gun’s outstretched prongs, leaving the unattached electrodes to collide harmlessly against the far wall. The recoiling wires which once held the electrified prongs slackened and fell to the floor, crackling uselessly with nothing to propel it forward. The third and final batarang struck the device itself, slicing right into its battery-powered core, causing it to explode violently in Lock-Up’s gloved fingers.

“GAHHHRRR!!” the masked villain shrieked, shaking his badly-burnt hand. The trailing wisps of smoke intermingled gently into the air which was filling rapidly with tear gas. Lock-Up lifted the bottom of his mask up slightly and pulled out a re-breather from the belt of his Lock-Up suit, sliding it into place over his mouth.

He always carried one with him at all times – whether he be the warden of the prisoner or the vigilante Lock-Up. Immeasurably useful for any time when tear gas was needed to quell a prison riot, or when Lock-Up just felt like punishing the prisoners.

The problem was that Batman had hit him square in the face with the canister – there’d been no time to react, no time to put it on earlier. The gas had already done so much damage – Lock-Up’s eyes were beginning to swell to the point of barely being able to see. The villain staggered briefly, searching for the dark knight in the mist with tear-soaked eyes as he painfully coughed up what little of the gas he’d already inhaled against the re-breather.

“What’s wrong, Bolton?” the disembodied voice growled in the haze. “Trouble breathing?”

“P-piece of shit,” Lock-Up rasped, desperately backing away from the booming voice which seemed to be coming from every direction. He gripped his wooden baton with his good hand. “Got a re-breather on me. This tear gas shit won’t work!”

Lock-Up blinked his eyes again – hard – finally finding the Batman despite the mist-filled room and his own tear-blurred vision. He saw the shadowy vigilante cutting Film Freak free of his bonds and tearing off the electrodes attached to his badly-concussed head. Batman attached a re-breather to the still-coughing Film Freak, allowing the prisoner to breathe despite the tear gas haze surrounding them.

Lock-Up laughed at Batman’s concern over the prisoner, and just as he was about to chastise him for it, the laughter caused him to seize into another bad coughing fit. The shadowy figure checked Film Freak one more time before rising to greet the staggering Lock-Up with a look of pure fury.

“Good,” Batman growled. “I was hoping you’d put up a fight.”

The caped crusader raced toward Lock-Up, watching the villain raising his baton against the oncoming knight. Batman blocked the blow, driving his forearm hard into Bolton’s wrist. Lock-Up involuntarily released the weapon, cursing as it clattered hard against tiled floor and shot off somewhere into the misty haze. The costumed warden shot out a wild punch with his burnt hand, and shrieked in pain as the Batman met the blow literally fist-to-fist. Except that Batman’s hand hadn’t been flash-fried from a stun gun explosion.

Lock-Up recoiled, cradling his throbbing fingers, stepping away from the advancing dark knight. With his undamaged hand, he swung fiercely toward the knight’s head. Batman easily dodged the blow, catching his wrist with one hand – and slamming his forearm into Lock-Up’s outstretched arm with the other.

“EAAAAUGGGHHH!!!!”

Lock-Up screamed through the re-breather, his freshly-dislocated arm dropping uselessly to the side. The Batman slammed his fist into Lock-Up’s unprotected stomach once, twice – three times. Despite the padding of his costume, all the air escaped his lungs and the villain keeled over into a helpless kneel.

“That was for Magpie,” Batman said.

He struck just above Lock-Up’s temple with his elbow, causing the villain to drop to the floor, head throbbing in agony.

“That one, was for Film Freak.”

Batman kneeled down to face the beaten, shaking predator. The cursed Man in Black, tears dripping down his eyes, stared up at the blurry shadow of the bat.

“–and this? This is for everyone else you’ve hurt over the years.”

Batman ripped off the re-breather out of Lock-Up’s mouth, narrowing his eyes down at the broken villain as Lock-Up choked hard against the billowing fumes of tear gas surrounding them.

Without another word, he hoisted the unconscious form of Film Freak up onto his shoulders and walked out of the smoke-covered room, leaving Lock-Up writhing in agony from the gas.

Outside the Asylum

Some Hours Later…

The air remained filled with the red-and-blue flashing lights of police cars and ambulances. There were just as many EMTs walking inside the asylum to treat the wounded as there were policemen walking out with sealed evidence bags. Boldly beating the pavement, Commissioner James Gordon strode out of the asylum in a huff with a righteous fury in his step.

His heavy trench coat caught the breeze wafting in from the gates as he took a hard whiff of the night air and fingered his pack of cigarettes. Slapping the pack against one hand to get the tobacco packed nice and tight – something he did only when he was truly and utterly perturbed by a case – he pulled the cancer stick out and lit it up, sucking in a fat, hard drag from its tip. He drug his fingers through his white hair harshly, brushing the unkempt locks off of his brow as the breeze billowed against his coattails.

He gazed hard into the night sky as he often did, searching for some answers. Wondering just where the source of all this madness could arise from. Pondering just what fiery spark – hidden inside humanity’s collective soul – could allow people to justify all the horrible wrongs they could inflict upon one another.

The commissioner suddenly saw it – just another flicker of shadow and light against the prison wall. None of the other officers on the scene had noticed it, or would have thought anything of it, had they seen. The commissioner, however, knew better.

“You’re still here?” he said softly, turning to face one of the harsher shadows lining the asylum’s outer wall. “Thought you high-tailed it hours ago.”

Gordon watched the caped figure emerge from the shadows, as if it had simply formed into the shape of a man out of the ever-present mass of pure black lining the wall. With a voice of steely granite, it spoke to him.

“This is Arkham, Jim. You can never be too careful.”

Gordon smiled, shaking his head. “That’s what I love about you. Half the G.C.P.D. surrounding the place, and you’re still paranoid as all hell.”

Batman crossed his arms, letting the silence hang between them until the frazzled police commissioner let out a casual laugh and took another hard drag off the cigarette. He watched the smoke chase the wind for a moment before lowering his eyes, and letting everything he’d just seen inside those horrible walls sink into his weary mind.

“My God,” Commissioner Gordon breathed out, running his fingers through his windswept hair. “What Bolton did to those poor bastards in Ward 13…I’ve seen prisoners come out of P.O.W. camps looking better than those people.”

Batman placed his hand on the visibly-shaken police commissioner’s shoulder, nodding in silent agreement.

Gordon smiled warily at the dark knight. “Don’t you worry, old friend. We got enough on Bolton to put him away for a long time, just on the human rights abuses alone. My men are pulling out all the stops on this one, getting all the testimonies documented, filing all the evidence, making it airtight against that sick bastard.”

The dark knight nodded. “–and his victims?”

Gordon took off his glasses, polishing them with a heavy sigh. “Margaret Pye and Burt Weston are at the hospital now, in critical care. Last report said they’d been stabilized, but it was a close one. If you hadn’t called us in when you did–”

The commissioner trailed off, sighing hard and stamping the cigarette out against the ground, watching the twisted thing flail helplessly in the dirt. The fiery light at its tip died quickly from the cascade of harsh winds blowing in from above.

“We have some men with them now, but it’s really a formality more than anything else. They’re in absolutely no condition to cause any sort of trouble for the hospital staff for the next few weeks, much less attempt an escape.”

Gordon pushed up his glasses, as the two stared into the night sky.

“You know, the EMT’s tell me that Bolton’s injuries were pretty extensive as well: Severe concussion. Eyes swollen nearly shut from exposure to tear gas. Lungs badly worn from all that coughing. First and second degree burns on his hand. I doubt he broke the arm all by himself. Not while he was protected in that riot suit of his.”

“Not broken,” Batman grunted. “Dislocated.”

“Right,” Gordon grimaced. “Must have hurt like the dickens before the EMT’s went and popped it back into place.”

Batman let out a satisfied grunt.

“You know, he could claim excessive force on us and rock the case on its side.”

The dark knight scowled. “He won’t.”

“Why do you say that?” Gordon pointed at the Batman. “Bolton knows how to play the system. He passed every psych evaluation, breezed through every test in the book we use to screen the people we pay to run our prisons.”

“He was about to kill Film Freak. The force was necessary – and justified.”

“It better have been,” Gordon glared at him. “Regardless of how badly he’d had it coming.”

The Batman cast a sidelong glance at Gordon. “I took an armed combatant down as quickly and efficiently as I could, in order to save a life. It’s as simple as that.”

The shadowed vigilante drew his cape in, letting it ride in the breeze as the chastising commissioner leveled his eyes at the dark knight.

“With us, you know it’s never that simple.”

The knight watched his old friend filter back in towards the massive, haunting facade of the asylum. In his mind, he knew he’d been right to take Lock-Up down fast and hard. The Batman knew he’d done what needed to be done. Gordon was simply nervous about Bolton going to trial, and making sure that the case against him was as airtight as it needed to be. Bolton really did know how to use the system to his own ends, after all. One little slip-up was all it could take.

Yet, the martial artist in Batman wondered if there had been a better way. After all, Bruce Wayne had trained himself for years overseas, studying and disciplining his mind and body to become everything he needed to be in order to battle back the criminal element. With all those techniques he knew, and all the senses he’d honed to perfection, could there have been a better way to handle Lock-Up?

And if there had been, then how was Batman any different from a brute like Lock-Up, choosing the most punishing force available to take down his enemy?

The shadowed figure took off into the sky, whirling across the nighttime stretch of Gotham sky, unable to escape the sinister specter of doubt still lingering in his troubled mind.

The Exotic Estate of Selina Kyle

Just Outside Gotham City

Several Nights Later…

The curvaceous beauty in skintight black leather slinked in through the large, glamorous balcony window with the soundless footsteps of an expert cat burglar. She sighed gently, stretching her arms wide and basking in the gentle night breeze flowing in around her from the open bay windows. She took off her cat’s mask and let her long dark hair flow wildly in the wind.

So ends another wondrous night about town, she thought sadly, feeling the wild thrill of the night falling away from her. Why does it ever have to end?

She unzipped her catsuit slowly and stalked tenderly towards the bed, wanting to plop herself flat upon the satin sheets and let the whooshing of the wind lull her mind off to dreamland. Selina Kyle stopped just then, narrowing her eyes at a suspicious-looking shadow standing next to the light on her dresser.

“I know you’re there, Bruce,” she spoke to the suspicious shadow. “I can hear you brooding from here.”

Cover blown, the dark knight waited a beat before switching on the light, greeting her lovely smile and hungry eyes with his intense, well-worn scowl and a solemn grunt.

“Bruce, what a pleasure,” she said, eyes lighting up with luscious, sensual fire. She glanced toward the red satin lining her bed. “Here I thought my night was over, but perhaps instead, its just begun.”

“Catwoman,” he responded coldly.

Selina Kyle smirked, her eyebrows arching in surprise. “Batman,” she responded playfully, drawing the name out with a sensuous purr along her ruby lips. Her eyes devoured him seductively. “You finally have a change of heart with that supermodel friend of yours? What was her name, anyway?”

“Where is it?”

Selina frowned, confused. She closed the gap between them with a breezy flow of her tender body.

“Where is what?” she asked, easing her body against his. She slid a slender finger across the bat emblem emblazoned upon his chest and bit her lip.

“The necklace.”

“Which one?” she snickered. “You bought me several when we were together. I can wear whichever one you like.”

“The Scarlet Lynx.”

“Oh? Which one was that again?”

“Named after the prized kitten belonging to one of the lesser-known Egyptian pharoahs. Once believed to have been found among the ancient king’s treasures, until it was proven to be a modern-century copy some time ago. It’s only valuable to the most avid of jewelry connoisseurs, and even then only for its historical significance. Otherwise, it is a fine piece of sparkling jewelry.”

A look of confusion ebbed into her features. “A history lesson? Darling, you’re spoiling the mood…”

“It was claimed as missing by the surviving owner of Baubles and Trinkets. However the police did not recover it among Magpie’s possessions after Lock-Up was taken into custody,” the Batman scowled. “Every remaining item on the list was found, except the necklace.”

Selina raised her eyebrow at the shadowed vigilante, tapping against the emblem three times before her aroused expression twisted into a pout. “You think I stole it.”

The dark knight glared at her.

“Oooooo!” she groaned, turning away from him with an indignant defiance. “Don’t you ever turn off?”

When Catwoman turned back toward the dark knight, a look of bitter resentment has crossed her features. “So you thought it had to be the cat burglar.”

“That was why you were at Baubles and Trinkets that night, witnessing her abduction. That was why you came to the asylum with me, so that I’d grant you the access you needed.”

“One mistake. Bruce. One damned mistake, and I’m labeled a thief in your unforgiving eyes forever.”

“Method. Motive. Opportunity.”

“Grrrr!” she scowled, balling her hands into fists. “Did it ever occur to you that I met up with you at Baubles and Trinkets because I missed you, you arrogant bastard? Or maybe that I only showed up at the prison that night to have one last adventure with the man I once loved? Not that I can remember why I even bothered at the moment!”

She swiped at the air angrily, gritting her teeth as the hurt crept out of her heart and sunk back into her eyes. Batman – Bruce Wayne’s – heart broke all over again as he read the lines of pain and betrayal in her eyes. Part of him wanted so badly to make that hurt go away, yet the detective in him knew that would never be possible.

Selina spoke once more.

“You know, Bruce, the most humiliating part of it all wasn’t the fines, or the community service or crawling around that damned correction facility they sent me to. I didn’t even care about the outpatient kleptomaniac therapy crap the judge decided I needed once they let me go.

“It was the fact that the man I loved – that I trusted, with all of my heart and soul – testified against me, and sent the woman he supposedly ‘loved’ to prison. For admitting to one tiny, little mistake.”

“You stole that diamond, Selina,” the detective’s steely voice boomed, betraying none of the pain and guilt that still hung in his mind to this day about that decision made so long ago. “You had to face the consequences.”

“All that time we spent together. All our adventures, all our wild nights. You still treated me like a common criminal.”

The two once-lovers glared at one another.

“I’m not saying I didn’t break the law. I’m not saying you should’ve turned the other way, or let me off with a warning. I know you have a much stronger sense of justice than that,” Catwoman said quietly, hugging herself as she bowed her head. “I’m just saying you didn’t have to be such a cold, heartless bastard when you did it.”

The Batman let out a weary sigh. “I came here for the necklace, not to air out old grievances.”

Catwoman let out a groan of frustration. It was as if he hadn’t listen to a word she’d said. She placed her hands on her hips and glared straight into his eyes. “If you think I have the necklace, why don’t you go ahead and search for it.”

“I already have,” he glared hard at coldly. “Twice.”

Selina’s mouth opened wide, a bitter pang of shock and resentment etching over her face before she shook her head, and the acceptance washed over her face.

“I guess you would’ve already done that, wouldn’t you?” She muttered resentfully. “You were never really that keen on little things like privacy, or due process or unlawful searches and seizures. Why treat me any differently?”

The jilted lover stood there accusingly before she crossed her arms and put on her firmest, harshest face in front of her once-knight.

“Well, if you – of all people – did not find it, then I guess it isn’t here. Is it?” she scowled, pointing to the open bay window. “I hope you can find the way out.”

The Batman gazed into the hurt in Selina’s eyes, knowing that some things could never be truly forgiven. Or forgotten. He withdrew quietly, scaling the balcony without a word. Selina held herself gently, biting her lip hard to keep herself from crying as he withdrew across the lawn and far, far out of sight.

Why did I believe things would be any different this time? she thought bitterly. Bastard.

The hurt lover unzipped her tight cat suit and walked over to the drawers, pulling out her night clothes for her shower in a hot-tempered fury. As she laid out her clothes, her face flushed as her blood rose to a boil, knowing how much care he must have taken to leave each and every object in the room completely undisturbed in his search.

His absurdly-disciplined mind would have allowed no less.

Entering the shower, she turned on the shower head with a hiss, and let the warm drops hit her lovely form. Letting the water beads gently wash away all the pain, and resentment, and regret the dark knight detective had just stirred up in her otherwise pleasant, peaceful home. Running her hands through her hair, she sighed ruefully. She had really hoped it wouldn’t have come to this.

Why did you have to say that? she sighed angrily. Why did you have to be right about me?

She inhaled the deep flavors of body lotion and let the suds wash across her smooth skin, trying to calm down amidst the hot steam filling the room.

One five eight seven two, she mouthed to herself gently, relieved she’d decided to commit the combination to the safety deposit box directly to memory, rather than leaving any kind of physical evidence trail for him to find. Need to keep repeating that to myself daily now. May be some time before I can finally retrieve it.

Selina smiled a sad smile, wondering how lovely the Lynx would look on her that day she finally did. Especially when she paired it with a matching dress of glittering crimson silk.

EPILOGUE:

Gotham Memorial Hospital

Intensive Care Unit

Time Passes…

“Daddy? Daddy is that you?” The frightened girl choked out into the invading darkness.

“Yes, sweetheart,” said the soothing voice. She felt a hug. She could feel his presence around her, nestled in his warm embrace. “Daddy’s here. Daddy will always be here to–“

BLAM!

“Daddy?” she cried suddenly. The gunshot echoed from every direction.

“Oh God, Daddy?” The dripping blood. Like jeweled pearls slapping against the ground like bowling balls, rolling away from her. Abandoning her, to the invasive cruel of the dark.

No child should be without their daddy. No child should….

“Daddy!”

Margaret’s eyes opened wide, a sudden inhalation escaping the woman’s chapped lips.

No, not here. Daddy’s not here.

She breathed out painfully, the hurt in her lungs still persistent as ever as the ever-present bleating of hospital monitors brought her viciously, painfully back to reality. The woman known as Margaret Pye gritted her teeth, face twisted in pain as the nightmare began to fade from her mind. That same nightmare again, twisting images of her father being ripped away from her by time, or fate, or some such other nonsense. Always ripped away by something.

She missed the jewels – those glittering, sparkling things – wrapping around her, like a father’s tender embrace always should. Keeping her warm, keeping her safe.

Except they didn’t do that this time, did they?

She was still confined to the hospital bed, her arms and chest still bandaged from all the damage that monstrous Man in Black had laid upon her. The jewelry she’d stolen from Baubles and Trinkets hadn’t helped her one bit as his unforgiving baton laid waste to her body, shattering so much of what was once her vigorous, strong young-at-heart spirit and rending it asunder.

It had taken months for her body to recover, from all the fractured pieces Lock-Up had left it in. While her body had begun the slow, painful process of knitting itself back together, various detectives and policemen assigned to the case had all explained the situation to her:

They told her the tale of the terrible truth behind her abduction. All the beatings and the cruelty. They spoke of the power mad Warden Bolton and his quest to deliver Gotham from evil. His mad lust for power and violence. His intent to kill both her and the Film Freak. Her life saved by the courageous actions of the Batman, the superhero she’d come to hate for so many years. When all was said and done, there were many charges against the Magpie they were willing to waive, and she was shocked to learn that the Batman had spoken to the cops directly on her behalf.

Nevertheless, she was still guilty of a theft and a murder.

A psychological profiling had proven that when the gun went off in her hands, taking the life of Robert Schmidt, much of her thinking had been clouded by kleptomania and a delusional sense of reality. She wouldn’t be serving time in prison yet, but there would be extensive rehabilitation in her future. She’d agreed to everything they wanted of her, and they agreed to allow her to return to the Wayne Foundation for the Emotionally Troubled for her rehabilitation sentence – another gift from the Batman’s kind words, she was told, as the Asylum was the only standing alternative.

There was no way she was going back there.

From there, her future was uncertain. Nevertheless, the court-appointed lawyer said – due to the extenuating circumstances concerning her theft from Baubles and Trinkets and the death of Robert Schmidt, as well as her cooperation with police and willingness to go back to treatment – that the outlook for her was very good indeed. Legally-speaking, of course.

None of that brings poor Robert back to life, does it? she thought to herself, the regret aching down to the very depths of her soul. Robert, I’m so sorry.

Her body was finally at the point where she could freely move, and use her own fingers to itch at the places where the casts and the bandages chaffed every so often. More than the cigarette pangs, the constant itch of those horrible casts burned against her mind on those long, lonely days of staring up at hospital ceiling tile, tracing all the patterns in her mind.

She itched at the leg monitor. It, along with the police stationed outside, were a constant reminder that healing the physical scars was just the first step. There was a long, uphill battle she’d be fighting.

Daddy, she thought sadly. I wish you were here with me.

Wiping her hair from of her face with her left hand, she scratched at the bandages wrapped tightly around the right and pulled herself to a sitting position upon the well-worn hospital bed. She stretched out toward the dinner cart, feeling the pangs of hunger hit her stomach once again, knowing there would be leftovers from last night’s meal waiting for her.

That was when she saw it.

The Bejeweled Princess. Her favorite children’s book, placed right there upon cart. The one her daddy used to read her when she was little, back before all the bad things happened that made him go away.

How did you get here? Margaret wondered, picking up the book from the dinner cart and laying it upon her lap. When she opened the first page, a note popped out. Intrigued and confused, she eyed it suspiciously, reading its message:

Don’t worry, Margaret. Daddy will always be with you. There’s no need to be afraid anymore.

Margaret’s eyes opened wide, filling with tears. She smiled, clutching the book to her chest.

“Daddy,” she whispered.

For the first time in – well, Margaret couldn’t even remember when – she felt safe.

Finally, safe.

She took a second look at the book, wondering who brought it. She’d had no visitors since she’d been admitted all those months ago. Had someone slipped in during the night? Margaret thought she might have seen a shadow late last night, perhaps sometime when the constant white noise hum of the hospital had left her just on the edge of wakefulness and sleep.

No, that was nonsense. No one could have gotten past the cop out front, could they?

Margaret Pye decided that it didn’t matter, and she hugged the book once again, living in that pure moment of happiness, not noticing that the window to her room was slightly ajar. The window shades moved only-so-slightly, nestled gently by the faint morning breeze.

FIN

Next Issue: Now that Lock-Up is safely in custody, Batman must unravel the tapestry of clues left in the wake of his “cleverest” villain’s latest caper, a feat which may just leave our caped crusader “Be-Riddled!”

Join us, won’t you?

 

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