BURNED

By Jason McDonald

Somewhere in Gotham City
The Old Mercer Apartment Complex
(Currently Condemned)

The creature in the gunmetal gray bodysuit roamed among the deserted first floor of what had once been Mercer Apartments. The device on his back hummed and chirped as he inspected the dark walls and the creaking floorboards, noting the black stains soaking the area. His goggles lit up with a fiery orange glow as he made his way down the ramp and towards the entrance, noting the decrepit lobby area as he set down his now-emptied gasoline container on the ground. This apartment complex had been the talk of the town, once. Its heyday had passed many years ago, cold and lifeless for over a decade. The creature smiled beneath his heavy helmet – it wouldn’t remain that way for long.

He tapped the buttons on his gauntlet, and listened with pride to the device on his back change its hums and chirps to a more rhythmic sound. The creature’s dark heart beat faster as his goggles glowed brighter. His laughter – funneled and distorted by the voice synthesizer of his facemask – eerily carried through the dusty air like the shrill wail of a manic animal. The psychotic sounds of the creature cascaded through the entire building, singing in tune with the loud thrumming of the device.

Garfield Lynns – the creature known as the Firefly – gripped the powerful flamethrower and pointed at the dark stain on the weather-beaten carpet, pulling the trigger hard. His heart sung as a massive plume of flames leapt from the flamethrower, finally freed from the prison of its reservoir, and crashed against the gasoline-soaked carpet.

Fueled and furious, the fire began its work, spreading purposefully across the floor as the Firefly smiled proud. The fire hungrily licked and lapped up the gasoline which had drenched the stained carpet and had soaked deep into the rotting walls. The blaze crept across the ceiling like some predatory animal – ravenous, gluttonous, and insatiable.Garfield had been very thorough to ensure that the spark he began would have plenty of fuel to feast upon throughout the night.

Garfield stared longingly at the dancing flames, basking in the warm glow. He heard the pops and crackles all around him as the fire raged and crept its way across the lobby, up the stairs, and along the walls. Garfield backed away from the growing blaze slowly towards the exit. His retreat; however, was not out of fear. He simply could not tear his eyes away from the beauty of those flames. It was as if the fire was a symphony – and he couldn’t bear to miss a single note of the wonderful song. It was only when pieces of the second floor began crashing toward the ground that the creature finally, painfully, tore its eyes away from the beloved blaze.

Once outside the building, Garfield gazed up at the broken edifice, and was delighted to see the dark, boarded-up windows above him beginning to glow with a fiery inner light. The weight of his Kevlar-reinforced armored suit barely registered in his mind as thick, heavy smoke began pouring out of the second-story windows. The only thought on his mind was the smell of gasoline wafting in the breeze, the powerful aroma breaching even his breathable helmet. It permeated his metal suit, and wafted through his senses, refusing to be dispersed by the chill, whipping winds of Gotham at night. He could taste it in his mouth, and his heart beat faster with the electric thrill of it all. He gorged himself on the heady aroma as the condemned building was finally, fatally engulfed in flames, and fueled further by the wicked winds of the night. The Firefly sang along with the symphony of the blaze he’d created – his soul finally, fully in tune with the masterpiece.

He pressed a button on his belt and black metallic wings came to life, spreading out wide from his back like the majestic wings of an eagle. The rocket booster that was attached to the wing assembly roared with ignition, sending Lynns into the air with a dizzying burst of speed. The Firefly soared above the radiating light of the raging pyre, circling the blaze a few times before landing on a low rooftop that stood across from the burning building. He apologized to the still-singing blaze, guilty for having turned his back on such perfection – if only for a moment – to reach the relative safety of his perch above.

Below him, fire trucks and police sirens were beginning to sound and intrude on his lovely orchestra. Pedestrians and onlookers filtered out into the streets, paying witness to the beautiful spectacle he’d set in motion.

“The symphony goes on,” the Firefly whispered to himself as the second story collapsed inward, sending a fiery-orange plume of ash and choking soot cascading out from the first floor windows in all directions. He laughed darkly, watching the smog pervade the area as the fire crews began their futile efforts to contain the furious flames. “They’re too late.”

“–but I’m not,” said a cold, dark voice behind him. The Firefly turned, and saw a massive black shape standing seven paces away from him. The armored villain gasped, clutching his flamethrower tight in his grasp as he listened to the fluttering of the intruder’s black cape against the howling winds. It reminded him of the rubbery, leathery sounds of bats’ wings, flapping furious in the night.

“Batman,” the villain growled. “I won’t let you stop me.”

“You don’t have that choice,” Batman said, as he clutched the heavy metal batarang from his belt, and let the weapon fly towards the Firefly with a speed few would ever match.

At That Moment
Baubles and Trinkets
Just Off Thirteenth Street

The work was slow, delicate out of necessity. The thief known as Magpie knew she had to be careful not to trip any of the automated alarms in her haste to get inside the darkened store. However, the lock on the door was not being particularly cooperative at the moment, and her surroundings made the work all the more unnerving, to say the least.

The pungent smells of the claustrophobic alley assaulted her senses, to the point where she could almost taste the foulness lining the streets and the grime coating the walls. The space itself was eerily cast in weaving shadows lit only by a single weathered, moth-infested lantern, swinging calmly in the gentle nighttime breeze. The gun in her pocket, according to her rational mind, meant that she would be safe despite the ominous silence that permeated the narrow corridor. Her rational mind knew that she’d been in these situations many times – breaking into jewelry stores in the dead of night along dimly-lit alleyways, shadows and silence her only companions. Her rational mind knew she had nothing to fear.

If this is so, she thought, nervous sweat trickling down her brow, then why is my heart pounding so hard?

CLICK.

An audible click echoed throughout the still corridor as the lock suddenly sprang open. The door calmly opened inward with the listless creaking of weathered hinges.

Magpie, however, was anything but calm. A sudden chill wind filtered through the alleyway, and Margaret Pye felt it spread from her smooth, fishnet-clad legs all the way up into her core, covered only in a thin, revealing, and red-and-white top. She bit her lip, cursing herself for wearing such a scant outfit on a night like this. Or rather, she would havecursed herself if not for the soft whispers of a voice from long ago. It spoke calmly to her – guiding her efforts, assuaging her fears, directing her inside.

Her bloodshot eyes scanned the dark entrance as she pulled open the door to the lone storefront. As with everything, the quaint jewelry shop looked utterly changed by the darkness of the night. In the daytime, Baubles and Trinkets was merely a jewelry store, and Margaret Pye was merely a cashier. In the daytime, she would smile and converse with customers about each of the items on display, make recommendations, and politely listen to stories about who these pretty and shiny things were being bought for, and why.

Most of all, she remembered chatting with Robert and Eleanor Schmidt, the elderly couple who had owned this jewelry shop for the past twenty years. They knew of her past as a master criminal thief, but they were the kind of people that believed everyone should have a second chance. The Schmidts had the kind of inherent kindness and wisdom a beloved grandparent might have, adopting the former thief into their family with unconditional acceptance and trust. In the daytime, this store and its occupants seemed as calm and comforting as her own home, and had served as a new beginning for the recovering kleptomaniac. It was a chance to set things right.

In the dead of night, however, the store was so much more than that. It was a dark, cavernous expanse, with twilight glimmers surrounding the walls. Her body quivered with a profound excitement, as her heart thundered with each exhilarating step. The darkened jewelry displays took entirely different shapes and shades at night, forming a massive labyrinth that swallowed her up, body and soul – and part of her was so very thankful as it did so. Each glance throughout the murky blackness was a mystery only she could solve, and behind the blackness hid all the rewards of this serpentine darkness – all hers for the taking.

Oh how she desperately wanted to turn on the lights, watching the flickers of soft fluorescence cascade off of diamond, blinking and sparkling with twinkles of light that would calm her frenetic mind and ease the ache of her tormented soul. Alas, silence and darkness needed to be her companions this night – the Schmidts lived in the apartment upstairs, and could not be alerted that anything was amiss. They could never know the truth about their newly-adopted daughter.

Her hands shook, fingertips probing across each of the dim display cases with an air of hesitance and a glimmer of regret. It was those same regrets which had tortured her addled mind earlier that night – all throughout the night – as she’d sewn and stitched together her entire Magpie costume from scratch. The part of her that wasn’t the Magpie – the part of her that hated her insatiable appetites for bright and sparkling objects – was screaming right now, pleading with her not to go down this path again, to all the inevitabilities to which it would certainly lead. The part of her that was Magpie – that dark, sinister area of her mind which so deftly guided her to this point – compelled her to stay. Compelled her to approach the cases, and embraced the quiet moments of madness that had led her here.

It was that dark, sinister area which held her here, immobile at the sight of such beautiful jewels, speaking to her with a kind, gentle voice she remembered from days past.

“Margaret,” it whispered gently.

“Daddy?” She answered back, her voice a choked whisper, high-pitched with the sweet, innocent tones of a lonely child.

“I’ve missed you, sweetheart.”

Margaret Pye wandered to the source of the voice with shaky legs that scoured through the shadows all on their own. Their destination – and the source of the voice – so happened to be the display case in the middle of the store, nearest to the register. It was in this case where Margaret knew that the shiniest of all these wondrous jewels lay. She approached it with caution, hesitantly placing a hand upon the glass, beholding all the beautiful baubles within. Margaret felt a warmth – an all-pervasive calm – descend upon her shapely form. It calmly entered her through the display case, penetrating through her sweating palms, and traveled up her outstretched arms. As the feeling of calm settled leisurely into her still-pounding heart, all the anxiousness she’d held inside throughout the night washed away. Entranced by a sudden, total feeling of peace, Magpie smiled.

“I’ve missed you too, daddy,” she said, wiping a small tear from her masked eyes.

The bird mask. Her red-and-white, form-fitting suit. The fishnet leggings and black stilettos. All of these things felt right.

The past few weeks, pretending she was merely a cashier in this jewelry shop, just felt wrong now. Like a duchess in a beautiful castle wrapping herself in rags and standing amongst the peasants, such a simple, sad little life felt so wrong now, in this place. These jewels, and the millions more like them throughout the world, were hers now. She was daddy’s little girl now, daddy’s little Magpie. Nothing would, or could, ever go wrong again.

As she stacked the necklaces atop her bare neckline, feeling the weight of each ruby and jewel against her soft flesh, Magpie listened intently to her father’s soothing voice, knowing that he’d never leave her. The woman knew now that it had all been some horrible dream when he’d abandoned her and her mother so many years ago. That horrible, miserable past was someone else’s now – not hers. She hugged herself and a warmth flowed through her body.

Finally, daddy’s Magpie felt safe again.

Magpie picked through the bracelets, feeling the surface of each one as she selected only the most beautiful pieces for her tender wrists. Mind swimming with love, she picked through all the rubies, pearls, necklaces and chains inside the case before her eagle’s eye finally settled upon the ring – the most beautiful bauble in the world.

Just as she laid eyes upon the jewel, she heard the sounds of shuffling feet behind her.

Was someone in the alley? she thought, her mind frantic as she gripped the gun in her pocket. How did they get in here?

She pointed the weapon toward the source of the sound when her world became a haze of blinding white light.

The Rooftops Above the
Old Mercer Apartment Complex
Now

Firefly growled, deflecting the heavy metal object flying at his head with a swipe from his metal gauntlet, cringing at the slicing sound of metal-on-metal that echoed into the night. With a sudden swiftness, the armored villain brought his massive flamethrower to bear against the Batman, pausing for less than a tenth of a second to get his aim just right. Lynns gritted his teeth, and clasped the trigger.

WHOOSH!

Batman dove out of the way as a deadly tunnel of fire sliced through the darkness toward him. Mid-air, he tasted – rather than simply felt – an intense wave of heat engulfing the space his body had occupied just seconds before. The inferno collided against the stairwell entrance just a few yards behind him, and as the dark knight hit the ground off to the right, he transferred that force into a perfectly-executed roll away from the blast. Weathered bricks blackened and scorched in the nascent blaze, and the Batman recovered to a steady kneeling position to face his enemy while his cape billowed on the gusts of wind and debris kicked up by the blast.

The knight pursed his lips, regarding the Firefly with a stolid, determined stare. He studied the Firefly’s movements intently, and gazed upon the shiny gunmetal grey armor that comprised the Firefly’s fireproof suit. He also looked upon the flamethrower in his hand – the accursed weapon already lifting up towards the dark knight’s current position.

Batman stood up, pulling out a batarang from his belt, never taking his eyes off of Firefly. He pressed a red button on the side, and kept it visible as Firefly’s weapon turned to face the dark knight. Firefly noticed the heavy object clenched in the Batman’s hand – specifically the single blinking red light in the center – and wisely kept himself from pulling the trigger. The two opponents began to circle one another as the gears in Batman’s detective mind began to turn.

Firefly’s armor is likely the same Kevlar mesh interior with the sleek titanium-derivative outer coating he tends to construct it from. Difficult to penetrate, but not impossible, Batman thought calmly. Batman kept his eyes fixed on Firefly’s trigger finger and tensed his fingers around the batarang. Despite the weight of his armor, he’s still surprising fast. One-and-a-half second response time from his pulling of the trigger to his re-aiming the weapon. He can be disabled, but I’ll have to do so at close range. How to get that close to him, however, does pose a problem.

“Can’t you hear it, Batman?” the gunmetal grey creature’s voice carried across the distance between them, the voice synthesizer in his helmet adding a disturbing cadence to his words. The Firefly remained bedazzled by the stairwell entrance behind the dark knight, now engulfed in flames. “The symphony of the fire? The beautiful poetry blossoming brightly from the flames? Can’t you see the spectacle of its heavenly dance?”

“All I see is five years with good behavior, Lynns.”

“Hmmph,” Garfield Lynns grumbled beneath his helmet, as the two opponents circled one another. “You never could appreciate true beauty when you saw it. Never could appreciate the creation of true beauty, as I have.”

Batman smirked. “Creation is the last thing you know how to do. Your life is defined by destruction. The building below us is proof of that.”

Firefly kept his finger on the trigger of his flamethrower, stealing a quick glance to the pulverized remains of the Old Mercer Complex. It was swarming with firefighters and policemen now, crawling across the soggy, black rubble like so many termites. Firefly pointed toward the crews below with his free hand.

“They’re the destroyers, Batman,” the Firefly shrieked. “They’ve silenced the symphony I created because they can’t understand the perfection of the fire. The beauty of the licking flames. They can’t understand the symphonies composed by a true artist.”

“They’re cleaning up the destruction left in your wake. There is no artistry here.”

“You’re wrong, Batman. I’m an artist.”

“You’re an arsonist, and a pyromaniac. You don’t set fires because you love it – you do it because you can’t help yourself.”

The armored creature paused, halting his shuffling for a brief moment. He tilted his head at the dark knight.

“You suffer from pyromania. You can’t resist the unstoppable compulsion to start fires, and watch them burn. You’re a sick man, Lynns. You need to get help. There are medications that can allow you to–”

“You’re wrong, Batman. I can do anything I want.”

Batman smirked. “Anything you want? How does that explain Cassidy?”

“C-C-Cass?” Lynns stammered lightly.

Batman kept his eyes trained on the Firefly, watching a sudden slackness in his stance as the villain relived the painful memory. Moving like a wraith in their circular dance atop the roof, the Batman calculated his next move. The psychological approach was risky. Garfield Lynns – like his namesake – had an explosive personality. Especially about thisparticular subject. Still, it was his last chance at getting through to the unbelievably stubborn pyromaniac without resorting to force.

“Cassidy Summers. She was once an up-and-coming singer who had a wonderful career ahead of her. Her only mistake, was hiring you as her pyrotechnics expert.”

“No. No, no, no, no. I loved Cassidy. I loved her,” the Firefly said softly, and Batman could hear the man’s voice start to crack even through the armor’s voice synthesizer. “She sang like an angel, then.”

“She loved you too, Lynns. Until that one performance when one of your pyrotechnics exploded too early, and the stage she was standing on was engulfed in flames.”

“I–I couldn’t help her. She was standing right there, and I couldn’t do anything to help her.”

“The police report confirms that you believed there wasn’t, but you and I both know a good pyrotechnician always knows where the closest fire extinguisher is. You couldn’t do anything that day because you were paralyzed by the flames. Paralyzed by your own pyromania. You literally could do nothing but watch those flames dance, and extinguish the life of the woman you loved.”

“That’s enough,” Firefly rasped, his voice descending into a low-pitched snarl as his finger tensed on the trigger of his gun.

“She begged you to save her, but all you could do was watch.”

“Stop. Talking. You goddamn–”

“Does that sound like someone who’s in control, Lynns?” Batman yelled, clutching tightly at the batarang in his hand. “Does that sound like someone who can ‘do anything they want’, as you so eloquently put it?”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Garfield Lynns screamed as he pulled the trigger, the flamethrower aimed dead center at the dark knight’s chest.

In an instant, the black silhouette swooped away from the blast of heat and destruction while simultaneously throwing the heavy metal batarang towards the pyromaniac – directly into his facemask. The batarang clicked and whined as it cut through the air towards the armored pyromaniac – the center red light blinking faster and faster as the piercing noise built up to a thunderous crescendo.

With an unexpected quickness, Firefly pointed his flamethrower at the blinking batarang and fired, attempting to incinerate the object before it could reach him.

“Lynns, no–!”

BOOM!

Meanwhile . . .
Baubles and Trinkets
Just Off Thirteenth Street

Magpie winced, shielding her eyes as the shop’s fluorescent lights snapped on all on their own, casting her entire world in a haze of white fog. She pointed the gun to the source of the shuffling feet, gritting her teeth as she cocked back the trigger. She stopped in her tracks when she heard their voices.

“Who’s there?” the man rasped.

As the seconds passed, Magpie’s vision started to clear. She saw the speaker, standing at the foot of the stairs that led up to the second story of the small building, next to the light switch panel. He was an elderly bespectacled gentleman, late seventies, wrinkles of age and wisdom gently etched into his wizened demeanor. Beside him stood his wife, clutching onto his thin arms, urging him back upstairs. The couple looked so frail, and yet she could see the pride in the man’s defiant eyes.  His raspy voice was one Magpie knew well, though his fearful tone made her heart break. That, and the expressions on both of their faces when they recognized who the young thief wearing the red-and-white costume was.

“My God, Margaret?” the woman stammered.

“Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt?” Magpie breathed out, lowering the loaded weapon away from the startled couple. They stood in stark silence for a beat, and the Magpie suddenly felt the weight of the necklaces and the jewelry upon both her chest and her arms. Self conscious, she also felt the tightness of her red-and-white Magpie costume along her skin, a far cry from the usual business-casual trappings of a simple store clerk. She knew the couple was noticing the same thing, as their eyes darted to the opened display case behind her, the gleaming ring shining in the light.

Magpie held out a hand in a peaceful gesture, ignoring the clattering of bracelets as she began to speak. “Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt, I can explain–”

“There’s nothing to explain,” the stern man said, contempt bleeding into his thick, raspy voice. “You’ve gone back to your old ways.”

“We trusted you, Margaret,” the elderly woman spoke. “After everything we’ve done for you, how could you do this to us?”

“I–I’m not–this is a terrible mistake! I just came here to–to make sure that everything was locked up–” Magpie trailed off pathetically.

“You’re wearing two thousand dollars’ worth of our necklaces!” Robert growled. He turned back toward his wife, gesturing at the thief angrily. “I told you she couldn’t be trusted, Eleanor.”

“Margaret,” his wife asked. “Why are you doing this? Please make me understand why you would steal from us.”

“I’m not stealing–” Magpie pleaded. “I’m just–”

“–taking what’s yours.” a soft, gentle voice rattled inside her head.

“Do you hear that?” Magpie asked, gauging the confused reactions from the indignant husband and the petrified wife standing before her. Magpie scanned the room for the source of the voice, finding the store empty save for the three of them. Her eyes darted sideways as the voice spoke again, emanating from the large red ruby on the heaviest necklace atop her bust line.

“My little Magpie.” the soothing voice cooed, and Margaret Pye smiled.

“Daddy,” she said happily.

“These people are trying to steal your jewels away,” he said, his voice pervading throughout the brightly-lit room. “Your pretty and shiny trinkets.”

She fingered the ruby, and bit her lip. “Th–they are? No, no they’re just–”

“Don’t let them steal your pretty jewels away, sweetheart.”

She could feel the weight of the gun in her other hand. “Daddy, I can’t just–”

“Don’t let them steal me away from you, sweetheart,” the voice said, rising up from the red ruby into her addled mind.

“I would never let them steal you away,” she said, biting her lip.

Magpie’s eyes widened as she heard a snippet of conversation coming from the whispering couple before her.

“My God, Eleanor. She’s having a full conversation with herself.”

“Robert, she has a gun!” she whispered, pulling at his arm. “We need to get away while she’s distracted. Hurry!”

“I do have a gun, Mrs. Schmidt.” Magpie’s eyes snapped up, and focused intently on the bickering couple. “No one is taking away my pretty and shiny things away from me.”

Magpie trained the gun on the pair, eliciting a shocked gasp from Eleanor. Robert Schmidt, on the other hand, furrowed his brow at the thief, balling his liver-spotted hands into fists.

“I don’t care if she has ten guns, I’m not giving up my shop to this hoodlum! I built this shop from the ground up, and I won’t let this little girl get away with stealing our livelihood.”

“It’s not worth your life, Robert!” the elderly woman pleaded, tears streaming down her face. “Robert, please!”

“Margaret, you horrible, lying thief! We invite you into our store, into our home, and this is how you repay us? We give you the benefit of the doubt, knowing what you’ve done, and still you go right back to stealing from whoever you want.”

“I’m not stealing,” Magpie’s voice shook. “I’m taking what’s mine.”

“These don’t belong to you!” the old man growled. “This is our livelihood, you criminal. I’m calling the police, right now!”

“The police–?” she stammered, the gun hovering in her grasp as she stared the shop’s owners in the eye. “You do want to take my shiny things away from me. Daddy was right!”

“Margaret, please don’t hurt us,” Eleanor started, eyebrows arching with sympathy. “I understand you have to take the jewels, I know. Just–just take them, and go. Please, just take whatever you want and go.”

“No, Eleanor!” Robert Schmidt roared. He pointed a gnarled finger at the young woman. “I’ve put too much into this store to see this woman take it all away! You put everything back right now, do you hear?”

“No, Robert! Please–”

Magpie clutched her gun, a tear falling from her eyes. “They’re mine! I won’t let you take them away. I won’t let anyone take them away–!”

BLAM!

The Rooftops Above the
Old Mercer Apartment Complex
Deadly Fire Fight

There was an explosion, and a wash of flames collided against Firefly’s sleek armored form. Blinded by the light, the villain could do nothing else but shield his face as the blast engulfed him from head to toe in a burst of fire and smoke.

The dark figure rose up slowly, watching as the blaze obscured the deadly villain from view. The smoke from the blast raced across the rooftop and swirled in all directions, carried by gusts of intermittent, violent winds. The haze covered the rooftop in seconds, completely blocking Batman’s field of vision.

“Damn it,” the Batman cursed under his breath, searching the choking smog for any signs of the violent maniac. “Miscalculated his speed.”

He had only wanted to blind and disorient Lynns with the blast, but the added fuel and accelerant from the flamethrower turned a simple flash-bang into a massive fiery inferno, fueled by the manic winds of the night. Garfield Lynns wasn’t dead, Batman knew, assuming his armor hadn’t been punctured earlier in the arson fire. Lynns had built it to bask in the flames which he so enjoyed. As a pyromaniac, he couldn’t bear to be too far away from the fires he started.

Still, with the accelerant changing the chemical formula – intensifying the initial explosion – and the winds whipping around the smoky fallout, Batman’s vision was obscured too by this backfired tactic.

This could still be advantageous, the Batman thought. I can use the smoke to my advantage. Make this into a close-quarters fight, disabling his long-range tactics with the flamethrower.

Like a wrath, Batman weaved in and out of the thick yellow smog, making his way towards Lynn’s position as he pulled another batarang from his belt – a regular one this time. The bat-shaped metal felt heavy and firm in his grasp as he looked upon the glow of flames he could make out in the smoke. The razor-thin edge of the batarang would be perfect for severing the line of fuel that connected Lynn’s flamethrower to the accelerant supply on his back.

With the flamethrower gone, Batman surmised, I can work on peeling Lynns out of that armored shell and carting him back to Gotham, where he can do no more harm.

He could just distinguish a shape in the wafting wisps of fiery smoke, its movements slow and leisurely. The caped crusader gripped the batarang tightly, stepping ever closer to the shape. Squinting his eyes, Batman worked to judge where the flamethrower might be in the fog.

That’s it, Lynns. Stay mesmerized by the fire surrounding you. Don’t notice anything else.

He tensed himself to strike, when suddenly a plume of red-yellow fire burst out from the fog, engulfing Batman’s right arm completely at point blank range. There was no time to react.

The dark knight cursed angrily, dropping the batarang and pulling his badly-burnt arm away from the blast, slinking off toward the left. His eyes pierced through the dense, but brightened fog, and saw his armored foe step out, laughing at the dark knight’s pain. The angry knight noted how the light from the fires reflected off of Firefly’s once-grey armor – cascading hues of magenta and fiery orange jumping and dancing atop the fireproofed armor. Just as Batman so easily hid himself in the shadows, the Firefly looked as if he had been forged and sculpted directly out of this bright plume of fiery fog engulfing the rooftop.

Batman backed away quickly, protecting his wounded arm with the other side of his body. He never even realized how close he was to Lynns until he’d pulled the trigger.

So close to catching him. So close to disarming him.

So, so close.

He admonished himself for not foreseeing this possibility. Back at the cave, he’d thought the Firefly case had been completely stalled. He hadn’t counted on running into Firefly tonight. The typical Batsuit was good for many things – protection against grazing bullets, protection from the winds and chill at the altitudes he tended to work in, and some insulation from heat sources and acidic compounds. The sleeves and gloves of the typical Batsuit, on the other hand, were far from fireproof. There were thicker, heavier, clumsier ones at the cave which would be much-better suited for taking down the Firefly. One suit he was designing even had a built-in rebreather to protect the bottom half of his face from the intense heat of Firefly’s blasts.

None of those suits were on him tonight. He’d only counted on facing off against the Magpie. As insulated as his suits tended to be, it was no match against a direct blast from the flamethrower and its chemical accelerants. Judging from the pain emanating from the dark knight’s hand, it looked as if Garfield Lynns had made some improvements on his accelerant formula since their last encounter. The fog was fading quickly as the wind gusts went about their work, but the dark knight detective cursed under his breath as he cradled his injured arm.

“Now the fog clears,” he grumbled to himself.

As the villain emerged, the Batman noted the Firefly’s movements – erratic, off-center, staggering about as if intoxicated. The blast had certainly disoriented him, sure. Nevertheless, if his harried momentum was any indication, it hadn’t done anything to mitigate the situation. If anything, the blast simply fueled the fiery rage burning inside him. His worst fears were confirmed as he heard the synthesized voice of an anguished, enraged scream fill the skies.

The armored monster staggered about, swinging his gun across his range of motion and lighting up the entirety of space in front of him with orange death. Batman catapulted sideways, narrowly avoiding the burst of flames. In a sudden rage, Firefly kept the trigger depressed and dragged the flame trail in the direction of the dark knight, matching him move for move as he desperately weaved and roamed about, despite the pinpricks of pain shooting out from his injured limb.

“Don’t you follow me,” Garfield growled. He unclipped several metallic discs attached onto his armor’s belt piece and threw them toward the caped crusader. Batman watched the discs cut through the air and – knowing how little time he had left – stopped his momentum suddenly and shifted all of his weight into a hasty backwards flip.

The discs struck the rooftop and Batman braced himself as they exploded outward with a massive concussive force, crackling fire forcing its way in all directions. He let his kevlar-weave Batsuit take the brunt of the blast, covering his exposed mouth and eyes from the licking flames. He was thrown clear across the roof, his body slamming against a neatly-stacked pile of cardboard boxes which were standing against a storage shed in the back. He shrieked in pain as his burnt limb smacked the ground.

Batman groaned, shaking off the pain and the dizziness from the impact and brought himself to his knees as he heard the rumbles of ignition from Firefly’s backpack in the distance.

The dark knight quickly rose to his feet and watched the Firefly take off into the night sky. In vain, he reached into his belt and produced his grappling hook, shooting the line towards his retreating enemy. The line extended toward the armored foe, stopping just two feet away from the Firefly’s boots before going utterly taut, slackening, and finally falling back toward the ground.

Batman watched the Firefly grow dimmer and dimmer until he disappeared into the blackness of the night. He placed the grappler back into his belt, and regarded the burnt out remains of the stairwell in frustration, seething in pain as he cradled his injured arm.

Baubles and Trinkets
Just Off Thirteenth Street
The Horrors of Regret

The gun bucked in Magpie’s arms and she saw a squirt of red splash out from Robert Schmidt’s chest. The old man clutched the wound and fell, the warm liquid oozing and soaking into his pajamas as Eleanor screamed. She knelt down beside him, crying as her husband rasped and clutched onto the last embers of life now left for him.

Magpie held the smoking gun in front of her, standing in shock over what she’d done.

“Mr. Schmidt? I didn’t mean to–” she clutched at the words clumsily, watching the man who’d been like a grandfather to her squirm on the ground before her. Eleanor cried as her husband’s life’s blood continued to soak into his pajamas. Tears flooding her eyes, the elderly woman glanced back at Magpie with a look of utter anguish etched along her face.

“What have you done?” she screamed, clutching her husband’s gasping frame and laying her head upon his bloodied chest. “He wouldn’t have hurt anyone! Why did you–”

“I didn’t mean to–the trigger just pulled itself. I can’t–” Magpie gasped. She held her hand to her mouth and backed away from the scene, horrified as the dying store owner started trembling and shaking and seizing in his final death throes.

Dropping the weapon on the floor, she turned and ran from the pair, her black hair whipping behind her as she moved across the store as fast as her legs could carry her. She stormed out of the back entrance into the subdued alleyway, the pungent aroma once again assaulting her senses. She glanced back at the side entrance to the shop, tears beginning to stream down her eyes.

“I didn’t want to do it, daddy! He made me do it. Why did he try to steal my shiny things? Why?” She cried hysterically as adrenaline pushed her further into the winding, twisting alleyways of Gotham City.

She turned around another corner, and a massive black shape suddenly planted itself in front of the woman, blocking her only means of escape.

Magpie, a runaway freight train of adrenaline and panic, slammed face-first into the silhouette, bouncing off of the immovable object and slapping hard against the grimy alley floor below. She shook her head, still trying to comprehend what had just happened as she looked up at what she had just crashed into. The shape stood tall before her, blanketed in the darkness of the alleyway, save for the watchful stare of his dark, beady eyes. Her regret and remorse over the unintended shooting of Mr. Schmidt was suddenly replaced by a sense of sudden panic, and then absolute terror. Shaking with fright, she looked into the eyes of the dark creature that had barred her escape.

“Batman–?” she said in a hushed whisper.

She heard a muffled grunt that sounded like a snicker, and could make out the shape pulling something from his belt.

“You wish,” it said.

Magpie felt a heavy object crash down against her slackened jaw. The red-and-white clad villainess suddenly felt a massive surge of pain pulsate across from her battered face just as the black creature descended upon her. He slammed the wooden stick against her again and again, and Magpie shrieked in agony as her body was wracked by the sudden onslaught. Magpie was overwhelmed, and curled up into a ball as the man kicked, beat and smashed the living daylights out of her, alighting her world in a wash of agony and pain. He ended the attack with a final kick to her gut, forcibly exhaling all the breath from her choking, bloodied body. She quivered and shook involuntarily, barely conscious.

From somewhere outside herself, she could feel her body being dragged against the hard ground, sharp pebbles scraping against her once porcelain skin. Her mind in a terrible, woolly fog, she glanced forward toward their destination, and coughed up blood over her rapidly-bruising face and chest. Through a spinning kaleidoscope of twisting unreality, she watched helplessly as he dragged her to the large black van.

She groaned, blackness dimming in at the edges of her vision as the van seemed to split into two different vans. Barely conscious, her head began to pound and not just the van, but everything else began to split into separate, blurry afterimages. She heard the van doors open, but instead saw the maul of a deadly, monstrous animal opening its mouth, ready to swallow her whole.

She shrieked in pain as the man in black pulled her forcefully off the ground and tossed her hallucinating form into the darkened van, shutting the doors behind her. Time seemed to move forward in shifts and starts inside the blackness as she heard the engine start and throttle, and felt the dizzying back and forth of sudden movement. The constant stir of the engine was the last sound she heard before her mind drifted out into the inky void of oblivion.

The Batcave
Several Hours Later

The dark knight detective gazed intensely at the massive Batcomputer monitor before him. The program was streaming strings of complex figures and data as it painstakingly analyzed the burnt fragments of brick and wood that Batman had recovered from the burnt stairwell. With each new segment of data gleaned from the forensics evidence, computer attempted to reconstruct the chemical composition of the Firefly’s new accelerant formula. The aim was to develop a way for the dark knight to protect himself against Firefly’s devastating fire blasts, which had visibly scorched his arm and hand. He rubbed at the injured limb, having since wrapped the hand in a layer of gauze. The hand and arm showed signs of first and second degree burns, but the damage was not too severe to the epidermal layers. He estimated a week at the outside before the flash burns had fully healed themselves.

However, his attention wasn’t entirely focused on the analysis.

Instead, his gaze was transfixed upon the minimized window below the analysis program, displaying a live feed from the local news channel. The broadcast was specifically focused on the interior of a quaint little jewelry store, Baubles and Trinkets, where Batman had been perched on a stakeout looking for the Magpie before the battle with the Firefly. The dark knight’s face grew fiery red as he watched the police drawing a chalk outline around the final resting place of Mr. Robert Schmidt, store owner, and the heartbreaking interview with his wife concerning the murder. The newscaster reported the brutal killing in detail as a picture of Margaret Pye – the middle-aged woman who was being sought by police for the elderly man’s brutal slaying – scrolled silently across the screen.

“Magpie,” the Batman growled, his leather glove tightening into a fist. “She must have gotten there just after I left.”

He continued watching the newscast, recording the video for further analysis and replaying it again and again, almost as if to punish himself for his absence from the crime scene. He sighed as the analysis program continued in the background, unabated. “Magpie, what have you done?”

“Master Bruce?” said Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne’s trusted butler. No one but Bruce would have been able to pick up the sound of concern and urgency contained in the butler’s voice as it echoed off of the dripping walls of the dark cave.

“Yes, Alfred?” Batman called out in a heavy baritone, watching Alfred quickly descend the winding staircase with a pile of what looked like clothes in his arms.

“Master Bruce, I’m afraid I have some rather pleasant news.”

The knight raised an eyebrow. “Pleasant news?”

“Indeed, sir. I’m afraid you’ll need to abandon your usual routine of wallowing around inside this damp, depressing cave,” Alfred said, showing off the designer sweater and pants he’d smuggled into the sanctum of the Batman, “and instead spend a wonderful, relaxing evening with the lovely Ms. Veronica Lavigne.”

Batman smirked, looking at what must have been an elaborate prank with a bemused grin. “Hilarious, Alfred. Though, I’m afraid I’m very busy tonight.”

“I can see that, sir,” Alfred harrumphed, directing his attention to the Batcomputer’s massive screen and the open windows on the monitor. He placed the clothes on the desk behind them and came up to his master’s side. “It’s not like those automated analysis programs run themselves or anything.”

“I need to be ready for the next fight with Firefly,” Batman intoned, gesturing towards the sample of pulverized and blackened brick from the scene of the previous battle as well as his gauze-wrapped hand. “However, it seems Magpie has struck. Her uncontrollable kleptomania has transitioned into murder. All evidence indicates that while this was an isolated incident, I’ll need to find her before-”

“Ah, I see,” Alfred interrupted quickly. “I’ll simply tell your guest you’ll be unable to attend tonight’s dine-in.”

“My guest?” Batman asked.

“Yes, the lovely woman in the hall waiting for you,” Alfred gestured up toward the manor above. “Ms. Lavigne. Perhaps you’ve heard of her, in passing.”

“She’s here?” the caped crusader’s eyes widened as he stood up. “She’s in the manor?”

“Indeed. It seems that, in an extremely romantic attempt to surprise you, she’s shown up to the house with a bottle of champagne and a movie, and invited you to a quiet night in the manor. Most dreadful, is it not?”

Batman brought his good hand up, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Alfred, I need to be–”

“–repairing your relationship with Ms. Lavigne while resting and healing from your wounds? I completely agree, Master Bruce,” Alfred finished Bruce’s thought for him, gesturing towards his Batman costume and raising an eyebrow. “Naturally, since you can’t accomplish that from down here wearing that dreadful costume, I took the liberty of bringing you a nice, freshly-pressed change of clothes.”

“You know I can’t leave yet. The analysis–”

“–is still only thirty percent done its reconstruction of the formula, if I’m reading that screen correctly.” Alfred watched Bruce begin to object, gesturing to his burnt hand, and he cut the master off before he could speak. “Naturally, I’m sure you can explain away that burnt hand easily enough by now. The sleeves of the sweater will hide the rest of the arm.”

Before the detective could argue, Alfred turned quickly and ascended the dark stairway. “I’ll let Ms. Lavigne know that you object to her romantic overtures, and will begrudgingly spend the rest of the night in the company of a beautiful woman.”

Batman’s objections fell away as his butler disappeared in the hazy darkness leading into the manor above them, and looked back upon the computer status bar, watching the reconstruction status bar slowly and painfully attempt to reach thirty-one percent complete. Frustrated, he rubbed at his still-tender hand and winced – he’d be less than useless with this injury. The Batman was clearly finished for the night.

He looked over at the immaculate attire of Bruce Wayne, neatly-folded atop the desk behind him. The dark knight crossed his arms, and tapped his boots in frustration.

Wayne Manor
The Main Hall
Minutes Later

Veronica tapped her heels on the plush carpet of the elaborate hall with a growing impatience. She wore a fashionable, bare-shouldered red shirt that ran down her bust into a V-neck with a black tube top underneath that covered her ample bosom. Her jeans hugged her every curve, looking almost painted atop her smooth legs and terminated just above six-inch designer heels that delicately pressed against the lush carpet of the hall.

She had her arms crossed tightly, clutching the expensive champagne in one hand. Her full, sensuous red lips were busy putting on the most intense pouty-face they could muster. She wryly smiled as Bruce Wayne stepped out into the hallway, wearing an impeccable designer sweater that he filled out handsomely. Veronica bit her lip, frustrated at how hard she’d worked to pull off her own luscious look, while he came out of nowhere, casually-looking like a million bucks.

“Bruce, so glad to see you,” the delightful Russian accent filtered out of the lovely supermodel’s mouth. “For a moment, I thought I might have to spend a romantic night with your butler, instead.”

Bruce noticed her wardrobe and raised his eyebrow slightly, his temperature rising suddenly as his heart skipped a beat. The calm, collected billionaire gave no sign of this however, as he met her alluring gaze.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting, Veronica,” the charming tenor of Bruce Wayne sounded in the hall, as he strode towards the red-haired beauty. “I had a conference call with some clients; couldn’t be helped.”

“I see,” she said. She placed her hands on her voluptuous hips and smiled. “If they call again, tell them I’m sorry, but I’m keeping you all to myself.”

She strode over to him, her hypnotic gaze boring into his eyes until she noticed his hand – the one covered in medical gauze. “My God, Bruce! What happened to you?”

“Oh, this?” Bruce Wayne said, calmly holding up his injured hand. “I’m afraid I tried my hand at boiling some tea earlier today.”

“You got that from boiling tea?” She murmured, pulling his hand up and inspecting the injury. “What, did you spill the entire pot on it?”

Bruce chuckled nonchalantly. “Something like that.”

She gazed at the wound and she brought her eyes up to face his, playfully tracing a finger along his well-muscled chest. “Poor, poor boy. Can’t even make tea by yourself without your butler’s help. What am I to do with you?”

“Force me to spend a quiet, romantic evening with you in my manor, from what Alfred tells me.” Bruce smiled, grazing her fiery red locks with his good hand and brushing the delicate strands of hair back behind her ear. He noticed the expensive, elaborate earrings hanging down from both ears, and watched them shimmer in the light.

“You look lovely tonight, Veronica.”

Veronica’s heart beat faster. “I suppose you look cute as well, Bruce.”

He stepped closer to her, grasping the champagne in her hand, and enjoying the mischievous look in her eyes. They gazed longingly at one another in the blissful silence, slowly bringing their lips closer together until a strange aroma snapped them out of the moment.

“What is that smell?” Bruce asked.

Veronica looked toward the direction of the kitchen and smiled, biting her lip. “Alfred said he would make us some popcorn tonight. For the movie.”

Bruce looked over as well, smiling. “That ought to . . . stimulate tonight’s conversation.”

Veronica playfully smacked Bruce on the chest, laughing. “Oh Bruce, you’re horrible!”

“What?” He asked innocently, and glanced over toward the desk, where she’d lain down the movie. “Errr, what are we watching tonight, anyway?”

Veronica moved toward the table excitedly and pulled up the movie, holding it so he could see the DVD inside the case. “Femme Fatale. Ever hear of it?”

Bruce’s expression turned to one of confusion. “Actually, I haven’t. Who’s in it?”

“It’s an older movie. Rebecca Romijn and Antonio Banderas. It’s a thriller about these jewel thieves that–”

Bruce Wayne’s gaze fluttered away as the sounds of bat’s wings flocked inside his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about the newscast he’d just seen, and the fact that he had been there – right there, at that building just hours ago – and was still unable to prevent Magpie from murdering that defenseless store owner.

Rationally, he knew he shouldn’t be kicking himself. He’d stayed watch at that store for a full three hours before seeing a wafting plume of smoke in the breeze from an arson fire several blocks away. He couldn’t blame himself for going after the clear and present danger Firefly posed rather than staying at the seemingly-deserted storefront. Still, Bruce couldn’t help but wonder if he’d continued the stakeout on that perch just a few minutes longer. Maybe he would have seen a sign that Magpie was–

“Bruce? Bruce, are you still with me?” Veronica’s seductive voice invaded his thoughts and he couldn’t help but do a double take.

“Yes, yes, Veronica. I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. What–what did you say again?”

“Ah, look, don’t worry about it. My explanation doesn’t do it justice anyway. You’ll have to find out what happens as we watch. For now, just hang tight, and enjoy the night with me. Now, where is this living room of yours?”

The billionaire playboy led the beautiful woman down the hall to the luxurious expanse of the living room. They watched the movie about jewel thieves, talked, laughed, enjoyed popcorn and bantered back and forth throughout the night. All the while, Bruce tried his best not to let the thoughts of a dark detective ruin the rest of their quiet night together, or their morning afterward.

Next: Batman’s investigations continue as he is pressed to solve both Magpie’s kidnapping and Firefly’s arson spree. But who is the mysterious stranger who attacked poor Margaret? How can Batman protect himself against Lynn’s new formula? What do Lynns, Margaret and Film Freak have in common? And where does Catwoman figure into any of this? Be ready for the third installment of this growing mystery, titled “Down Among the Madmen!”