Bruce Wayne emerged from his Maserati and entered the doors of the medical facility. With his trademark swagger and grin, no one could tell on the inside he was broken and nervous. He leaned over the receptionist's desk and eyed the worker behind it. She didn't notice him. She doesn't look too bad. Or at least not as bad as she used to, he said to himself. Time to put on the ol' Wayne Charm, Bruce. He winced internally. Still felt foreign referring to himself by name.
Without looking at him, the blonde receptionist said, "Is there something I could help you with, sir?"
"Yes. I am here for two reasons. First, I would like to visit a patient. And second, I would love to have you accompany me for dinner tomorrow night."
The young woman looked up in shock. "M–Mr. Wayne!" She nearly knocked her computer monitor over in surprise. "I didn't realize it was you!" she stuttered.
Bruce cracked a sideways smile. "It's nice to see you, Harleen. Everything alright?" He reached over the cleft of the desk and uprighted an upset pencil holder.
Harleen scrambled to get the file of Mr. Wayne's patient... and a pen and sticky note to scrawl her number down on. "Here's your file!" Her voice was suddenly perky and light. "And here," she handed him the sticky note, "is my number. Call me." She winked.
"I will, Harley." Bruce walked away from the desk and through the white double doors that separated the lobby from the rest of the hospital. Did I really just set a date with Harley Quinn? Only a few years ago she wanted to kill me. Then again, he wasn't Batman anymore.
He entered the recovery wing of the hospital and was directed by a staff member to the room his sponsored patient waited in. He took a deep breath, ran his fingers through his hair, and stepped through the door.
"One more day..." Kimber was up and about, but she was very groggy. Surprisingly, she was looking forward to Mawk's party. A time when she would be up late but not because she was being shot at? After last night, that sounded like great fun to her.
"Papa?"
No response.
Then she remembered she was the only one on vacation. Her father didn't get a winter break in the working world and had probably left for work earlier in the morning. Hell, now that she thought about it, she wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't come home at all after the drama last night. "Being an adult sucks."
A voice message on her cellphone confirmed her guess. "'Hey, Kimber, Papa here. Didn't come home last night. Had an interrogation and some paperwork to finish. The more I work, the more work comes in. The bureaucracy is already well on its way to obscuring what needs to be done. I'm sorry I couldn't come home. There's a cold hash in the fridge, I think. Just warm it up and it should be good to eat. Love you, Kim. Over and out."
Kimber smirked at her father's closing line. He sounded tired and it was entirely possible he forgot he wasn't talking to an officer but his daughter. "Thanks, Papa. I love you, too." She deleted the message from her phone and began to rummage through the fridge for food.
"Hello?"
"It's Mawk."
"Oh, hey." Curtis paused his game system and sat up in his bean bag. "What's up?"
"I heard that Kimber invited you to my winter bash," the jock continued. "Wasn't my idea, but it's whatevs. If you are gonna come, you gotta help set up, though. I know you're good with that sort of stuff."
Curtis shrugged. Mawk was a good kid. Could be a bit of a bully at times, but he generally was a goofball who made fun of himself almost as much as he teased other people. To be fair, he was still a bit surprised Mawk wasn't calling to force him to not go. "What do you want me to do?"
"You're a tech geek, right?"
Gee, thanks. ''Yeah, I s'pose..."
"Great! I need the strobe lights to match in sync with the music. I got Jerome over here working on his DJ skills, but not only do his skills need work–"
A voice in the background raised in protest, "Hey!"
"Shut up!" Mawk turned his voice back to the phone conversation. "But, he has no idea how to sync my lights to his system."
"And you want me to be over when? Now?"
"Tonight. Or this evening. Near sunset or something. Best time to test the effect in the dark."
"Okay, cool. I can do that," Curtis replied as he wrote down the appointment on his bulletin board.
"Terrif'," Mawk replied with his custom slang term for 'terrific'. As defined by Mawk, 'terrif' is 'everything terrific is but with half the work'. "Later days."
Click.
Curtis stared at the phone in his hand. "Tech... geek?"
"Bruce." The woman opposite the room greeted her visitor. "Come to visit me, again? What brings you back here so much?"
"Diana," Bruce acknowledged the former Wonder Woman curtly. "I'm proud of you. A full recovery. Your written apology to the world, the remorse you've shown, and your willing and eager participation in the reform program have led us to this very groundbreaking moment. How do you feel?"
Diana smiled. "I feel free. Like a great weight has been lifted from my shoulders. The burden I carried for so long is gone and I feel like a new person."
"I noticed you've been growing out your hair again," Bruce added, gesturing to the former hero's shoulder-length curls. "I'm guessing you're feeling more liberated from the past?"
Diana nodded and brushed some bangs from her forehead. "Yes, but I am still walled up in this place. There was a time when this wouldn't be able to hold me." She looked around with sadness at the four walls that held her in. "But now, I'm..."
"Human?"
Diana nodded and looked at him. "I suppose you are used to being human by now?" she asked with a sly smile tickling her lips.
Bruce chuckled slightly. "I would hope so!"
"I do have to ask one thing."
"What is it?"
"So, in this wonderful place you have set me in, they don't let us get much television time and the staff isn't exactly the conversational type. I have to ask: has he returned?" Her eyes lit up and looked deep into his as if she could search his mind for an answer.
All this time and all these changes and she still thinks about Batman? What are the odds? "No. He is not back. Nor do I think he will... come back."
"Oh."
Both their faces fell but for different reasons.
Diana continued, "After I am released next month... What will happen to me?"
"Hopefully," Bruce replied. "You will be accepted by society and become a productive citizen of Gotham. Just because you no longer have superpowers doesn't mean you are powerless. Get a job, start a life. Maybe get married."
Diana forced a yawn. "A job? Married? How uninspiring. What else is written on the script the doctor gave you?"
Goren looked through the one-way glass at his prisoner. The man was in chains and an orange jumpsuit. Even though there was no possible way for the criminal to see Goren, his fierce brown eyes seemed to pierce through the glass and stab into the police chief's soul.
"We've been at it all night. He isn't breaking." Goren sighed. Moving away from the window, he leaned back on the wall and looked at the detective in charge of the interrogation of the prisoner, Stacey Ahms.
"I don't know what to say, Goren," Stacey replied. "All I could get out of him was that he wasn't Mr. Death. But that went without saying."
The door opened and a pudgy young man handed Stacey a manilla folder. She leafed through it with disappointment. "More good news; fingerprint report just came through. Nothing new. He's some low-level IT technician at a sleazy car dealership. We got nothing."
"Hurrah."
The two sat in silence, staring at nothing in particular, then jumped at a sound.
Tap tap tap.
They looked back at the one-way glass.
"I can't see any of you." The prisoner's voice was muffled. "But I would like to make my one phone call now."
Goren looked at Stacey. "Why not?" He shrugged. "Tap the line. Record both ends," he instructed. He moved for the door and motioned for the guard to retrieve the prisoner from the holding chamber. The man said nothing as he was escorted from the concrete room and chaperoned to a wall of phones.
"Pick one."
The odd man closed his eyes for a moment and Goren noticed his lips subtly moving as if praying. Then, with determination, the man grabbed one of the phones and dialed a memorized number. "Hello? Yes, sir. Huh, huh." The man smiled and handed the receiver to Goren. "It's for you," he sang.
Cautiously, Goren took the phone. "Hello?"
"You have some of my people in custody, Mr. Lee."
"Listen, Valley, if it means so much to you, why don't you come on down to the station and we'll sort it out?" Goren immediately shot back. "You might as well just give up without a fight. Because we won't rest until you're in the back of a squad car. You don't want any more deaths on your hands."
The man on the other line chortled. "Goren, you seem to have forgotten my name. Death is what I'm all about." The sentence sent shivers through Goren's spine. "You'd better release my men, or someone close to you will pay the ultimate price."
Click.
Goren stood there with the phone still to his ear. His mind flashed through the names and faces of everyone dear to him that this madman could have access to.
"Well, Mr. Lee?" The prisoner broke the silence rudely, "What's it gonna be?"
Furious, Goren spun around and ordered the prisoner back to his cell.
"Oh-hokay," laughed the man as officers half-dragged him back to lockup. "We'll see who has the last laugh! You just may want to warn your ex-wife! Oh, and that brat of a daughter, too!" And then he was gone.
"Well, I'd best get going." Bruce slapped his thighs before standing. "It was wonderful to see you again, Diana."
"Likewise." Diana used a napkin to dust off some of the bagel crumbs clinging to her lips. "A visit from the man who heard my plea is always welcome. Just can't wait to get out of this place."
Bruce flashed her a thumbs-up. Diana gave a small smile and reciprocated.
"Hurry back, now!" she called as he stepped out the door. "You may not be able to catch me after I'm released."
Bruce just smiled and closed the door. Oh, Diana... As he walked past Harley's desk. He wondered why of all the Justice Lords she was the only member to seek reformation.
Well, she will be starting a new life. Without the Lords and without Batman. That is what matters. Things change. He had never admitted it, but for the short time they were on the team, he felt a sort of connection with the Amazon princess. She was alone in what she referred to as "Man's World" and he was alone by choice and circumstance. Sure the others could have been argued to be solitary individuals, but they were still charismatic and rather personable to the media. Especially Clark and the Flash. Wonder Woman was too naive to hold a conversation during those first formative years, and Batman... well that was self-explanatory.
"I'll see you tomorrow night, Mr. Wayne," Harley cooed after Wayne as he exited. "You better not be late," she teased with a wink.
Once again, Bruce just smiled.
Kimber pulled her bicycle from the garage. With her father at work again, the house was quiet and boring. Feeling the need for some speed and adrenaline, she decided to take her bike out of retirement and go for a quick ride around the block. Though Gotham was quickly regaining its reputation for crime, the city was not as dangerous as it had been before the Justice Lords; during the day, crimes rarely happened. Much of the horror shifted to the night now.
"And this is just what I need to relax; a brisk ride." She hopped on the bike and took off down the street. On a whim, she veered left and onto the sidewalk, weaving between a few pedestrians before hopping the curb and into the bike lane. She had no particular destination in mind, rather she just wanted a relaxing ride.
"Hey, uh, Curt?"
"What's up, Mawk?"
Mawk gave a nervous laugh over the phone. "So, Jerome kinda did a thing and a fuse blew. Mind comin' over earlier to fix it?"
One time! One time I work for the school's maintenance team and suddenly I'm some sort of field tech! "Sure," Curtis replied easily. "I can do that, I guess."
"Terrif', bro! See you in ten."
Click.
More like twenty. Curtis shook his head and turned off the TV. With a weary sigh, he removed and then chugged a water bottle from the fridge. He left the bottle on the table and headed for his room to change into actual day clothes.
After taking his time showering and dressing, Curtis exited his home and baked out of the carport. A quick check of the time informed him that even by his own estimate he was five minutes late. Curtis sucked his teeth and drove down the road with his GPS set to Mawk's house.
Bruce was distracted. By what, he wasn't sure, but there was a nagging feeling in his heart as if something crawled into his thoracic cavity and died. At first, he thought it had something to do with the alfredo he ate at one of the parties the night before, but then he recognized it as an emotion. What was it? Regret? Sadness? He couldn't put his finger on it.
"Snap out of it, Bruce. If anything, it is probably just separation anxiety." He took a swig from the water bottle in his cup holder before making a right turn at the next light. "You are so used to being 'Batman' that now that you have killed the operation, you have to kill that drive in you." But he wasn't sure if he could do it.
He had become so enveloped in the identity of The Bat that he had even referred to himself as 'Batman' mentally. Seeing himself outside of the suit made him feel like he was watching a movie in first person. "Get a grip, Wayne." His fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
He passed by a newspaper stand presenting the Gotham Gazette's headline of the day: Mr. Death Continues to Elude Authorities. His mind jumped back to the night the Bat-dressed femme had made her appearance.
Less than a year and already things are returning to hell. The city seemed so quiet at night. But he knew it never really was. As soon as the Justice Lords were gone, crime rates everywhere skyrocketed. Now things were nearly back to what would have once been considered normal levels. There were even web pages petitioning for the return of the Justice Lords. There weren't very many of them, but they were there.
But a supervillain with a gimmick and a name already? This is a sick cit— His thought was interrupted as he spotted a biker out of the corner of his eye zooming into the intersection: no pads, no helmet, no care.
Bruce did some quick calculations in his head and realized that no matter what he did, he was going to hit her. Nevertheless, he slammed on the brakes. There was a screech, then a scream, followed by a thump and a thud, and then finally a sick twisting of metal as his modified bullet-resistant sports car ate the hollow aluminum frame of the bicycle. The rider had slammed onto the hood, slightly cracking the windshield, and then rolled over the roof, disappearing from Bruce's view just as his car came to a complete stop.
"Damn." With that word, Bruce Wayne jumped out of his car to check on the rider before a crowd could gather. What he saw took him by surprise.
The rider seemed not only unhurt but in control. She was crouched on the car roof in a very familiar manner: body low, both feet planted in a wide and stable stance and her fingers were splayed out on the roof. Her knees and elbows were bent but loose and her breathing was controlled. Her eyes were darting every which way and seemed to take in every detail of her surroundings, like an animal in a life-or-death situation. Her lithe skin was taut and the toned muscles beneath twitched, ready to fire off in any direction.
"Are you alright?" he asked, shaky.
The girl looked around from her perch. In an instant, the awareness washed away and she slid, clumsily, from the top of the car to the ground. She stumbled on the first few steps. A very 'faked' clumsy, Bruce noted.
"I'm fine. Probably sprained an ankle..." Then she looked at him and eep'd. "You're Bruce Wayne!"
Here comes the lawsuit... Bruce groaned inwardly as a small crowd started to gather.
"You don't remember me? Kimber Lee?" The girl's face was a funny mixture of awe and, strangely, happiness. "Goren Lee's kid!"
Oh, the cop I punched in the face—Wait, not me. How the hell does she know me?
Words continued to tumble out of the girl's, Kimber's, mouth, "You gave—"
"Oh, right!" Bruce remembered now, "I gave your father the security job!" After Batman 'relieved' Goren of duty, Bruce Wayne opened his heart and offered the former cop a job guarding sensitive prototypes housed in Wayne Enterprises shipment yard. Of course, Goren didn't know that half of those shipments were for the Justice Lords. It was a sort of poetic irony that Bruce indulged in every so often. "Do you need an ambulance?" Bruce stumbled through his questions. "Can I give you a lift to your home?"
The girl's face scrunched up like a confused pup and then she remembered the accident she was just in: she had been hit by her father's former employer. "Right." Then she pointed to the front of his car. "I'm fine. But what about my bike?"
Bruce laughed. "I think I can afford to buy you a new one, Kimber." He wiped both hands together before getting on his hands and knees to retrieve what was left of her bicycle from under his car.
The small crowd began to dissipate now. Apparently, seeing the girl unhurt and easily conversing with the person who almost took her life in what could have been a bloody accident didn't hold their interest.
"Let me help ya out, Mr. Wayne." The teen in jeans and a casual tee also got down to her knees and helped the multi-billionaire in a tailored suit wrench the thrashed frame free of the car's grill and undercarriage.
During the ride to Kimber's home, the two conversed easily about life, her schoolwork, and city politics. Bruce was quite impressed at her grip on the sciences, especially her chemistry. She was only a senior in high school, but she was already strongly diverse in thought and opinion. Her conversations never ducked below her maturity and most exceeded his expectations.
"Here's your stop, Kimber." The Maserati pulled up before Kimber's house, of course, garnering a few stares from nosy neighbors. "And again, sorry about your bike."
"You'd best buy me a new one, or my father might be a wee bit angry," she joked with a wink.
Bruce laughed, certain she wasn't going to tell her father about the incident. "Tomorrow. Promise." He watched her walk away. For the entire ride, she had been favoring her right side. Even when she'd fiddled with the radio controls, which were closer to her left hand, she'd used her right hand. Now that she was walking away, he could see why. Her left shoulder was injured from the way her torso swung and from the way her left hand hung at her side rather... limply. Most likely a blunt object injury.
A controlled roll over the car to disperse kinetic energy. The crouched position to be ready for whatever came next. Impressive knowledge of a vast number of subjects. Mature conversations. An injury most likely sustained in a brawl. By the time he arrived home, Bruce was convinced that if anyone were to be the Batgirl, Kimber was his best bet.
Curtis arrived at Mawk's house ready to work. He wasn't, however, ready for the house itself. He knew Mawk's parents were loaded, but he had never actually seen any indication of the amount of their wealth. Even when Mawk drove to school, his car was an older model convertible with fading upholstery and in dire need of new rims. But Mawk's house... was huge.
"Damn..."
"Hey, Curt! What's up, buddy?" Mawk ushered the less fortunate student inside. "Stick close, ya? This house may be one story, but people've gotten lost in here before."
"I don't doubt that..."
After a few turns and doors, they entered a large room filled with balloons and with one entire wall lined with tables and empty food bowls. "We were able to get the fuse fixed, but we still need the lights synced. I figured that instead of calling you and saying that we fixed the fuse, I'd just let you get your nerd crap over with sooner." Mawk smiled a genuine smile.
"...Right. Where is the DJ table?"
"Over here, dude," another voice called.
Curtis turned and saw a slightly older Latino standing behind a table working on two computers. "This is the system."
Curtis eyed the table when he got closer. Two computers, three turntables, a rather impressive and expensive stereo system, the works. "Nifty."
Jerome just looked at him. "People still say that?"
"I do," Curtis replied without looking at Jerome. He crouched to check the cable arrangement. In short: it was a mess.
"Whatever, dude. Work your magic." And Jerome left. Probably to go eat something or otherwise laze around while Curtis slaved under the desk undoing the fire hazard Jerome had put in place.
Curtis crawled under the table and began to take note of each wire. Out of the corner of his eye, there was a movement. "What?" He turned and looked for whatever had caught his eye. Out the window was a man in off-white overalls and a black biker helmet peering through bushes. And then he was gone. Curtis was sure he had been there, but it happened so fast... "Forget it. Probably a gardener or something."
He pushed the probable phantom out of his mind and got to work.
"Put an APB out for this Mr. Death character and I want my ex-wife alerted to the danger she could be in. Where's my coffee? Jane, my daughter! I need two squad cars, one down by the strip mall and the other at Threaded, now! Corrigan: I need you to send an officer to my house. She could be all alone there and I won't be home anytime soon. I want a police presence there twenty-four-seven until this loon is caught! And where the bloody hell is the report on that phone call?" Goren's mouth didn't seem to stop spewing orders. But who could blame him? The first supervillain in this new Gotham had just threatened his family.
"Sir, the report is on its way, your ex has already been notified, and your coffee is in your left hand," Elden answered some of his partner's questions mechanically but with a hint of humor.
Goren just gave him a blank stare. "Funny, Elden. But what about my daughter?" He took a sip.
Jane turned around in her chair. "Six cars have been dispatched. Two to the strip mall, three to Threaded, and one to your residence. ETA is five minutes on the one to your home. One officer will be there at all times."
"Good." He felt his forehead. Sweat was practically oozing from his skin and scalp. His shirt sleeves had long been rolled up and his heart was racing a mile a minute. "Know what, Jane? Make that two officers. I'm heading home. My daughter could be there and I'd like to be with her in case anything happens. She deserves to feel safe in our house." He hurriedly grabbed his coat and started for the locker room.
"Goren!"
The police chief did not stop moving. "Talk to me, Elden."
"Report came in. That number dialed was to a pay phone on Madison Avenue. We accessed the security cameras in that area but the person who answered the phone once again was dressed up in biker garb, helmet and all. No way to identify the target."
Goren didn't respond as he switched his work clothes out for his casual clothes. He picked up his backpack and took his Kevlar vest down from the locker but left his work pistol. He had a higher caliber firearm at home. "See if you can identify the direction he went after the call or where he came from before. Then triangulate that location and access those cameras. If he walked the entire way from the Narrows, I don't care. Find out where this man came from or where he went!" Then he stormed out.
Elden didn't miss a beat. Raising his hand with the report high in the air, he yelled into the office, "You heard the man! Get to work!"
"Papa! You're home early!" Kimber hugged her father, then pulled away. "What's wrong?"
"What do you mean?" Goren asked absent-mindedly. He wasn't focused on her. He was focused outside, watching the streets.
"Either you put on a few pounds in the office, or you forgot to take off your bulletproof vest. Again."
Goren looked to his daughter. "Sweetie," he started slowly. "You could say that we are under house arrest."
"What?" She looked outside again and saw a police cruiser across the street. It had been parked there for the past twenty minutes. "What's going on?" she asked.
Quickly, Goren drew the blinds closed. Once he was happy with the blocked window, he sat his daughter down, away from the window, and explained the situation to her. There was a moment of silence after he finished and Kimber looked at him with pleading eyes.
"But... Mawk's party tomorrow?"
"Sorry, honey, but until this is taken care of, we... I can't let you go." Goren braced himself for the teenage angst that was sure to explode.
But it never came.
"I understand, Papa." Kimber flopped back onto the couch and turned on the television.
Goren was surprised. "Y-You do?" he stammered.
"Yeah. Oh! And 'You are not being fair; I hate you; You just do not want me to have fun' and 'I wish I was never born.' Does that cover all the teenage clichés you were expecting?" She managed a smile through her disappointment.
"You forgot to threaten to sneak out of the house."
"Oh." Kimber chuckled. "So I did." Her face didn't show it, but she was upset. Not necessarily because she probably wouldn't be able to go to the party the next day, but because she had missed him. I was a fool. I saw that biker outside the building in the crowd but did nothing. If only I'd known... But now she wouldn't get the chance any time soon to go toe-to-toe with Mr. Death and she regretted it. "So what are we supposed to do instead?"
"Chess?" Goren stood to retrieve the board game.
"Eh. Why not?" She muted the TV as her father opened a cabinet.
Soon, her father came back with two items; the board game, and his gun. "Ready?"
"Only if you promise not to use that as a power-up."
"A what?"
"It's a video game thing... Never mind, Papa."
The game began.
Three shadowy figures watched from their perch in a neighbor's abandoned tree house.
"We could go now!" whined one.
"Yeah we could, but I dunno if it would be the smartest thing," replied another.
"Completing this task early wouldn't be the smartest thing?" asked the first. "You are ridiculous, Rob."
"You know how this works. Things have to be done in an... order. There is a time for everything. Remember Dymas," the third reminded his companions.
"Steve is right. We must wait for him to get here." Rob breathed in deeply then exhaled slowly. He scratched his leg; on his right calf was a sheathed combat knife.
"I always hated that story... What happened to Saint Dymas never sat right with me, you know?" The first one harrumphed in his seat and crossed his arms. "We could take them out right now without that officer seeing us. You know what Mr. Death said, we have to remove—"
A fourth voice elegantly floated among the branches. "Gentlemen, the end is about to begin."
The first three men turned around and saw a man in biker garb with a skull painted over the helmet faceplate climbing into the old, overgrown treehouse.
"Distribute the gear and call a blessing."
Two of the men began doling out weapons as Steve uttered a quick prayer over the small group.
"Oh, and Edgar?" The biker-helmeted man addressed to the impatient one.
Edgar turned to his leader.
"'Do not question the path set before you, lest you sway from the path and be counted out of the blessings to come'. Nathan eleven, fifteen."
Edgar felt a heat rise to his cheeks. He raised both hands in a paltry effort to resist what was to come. "Please—"
The mystery man grabbed Edgar by his neck and, in a swift motion, ripped out the man's throat. "No more will you speak." In another movement, Edger was shoved from the treehouse.
Arms waved, feet flailed, but his voice was lost. A muffled crunch was heard as the unfortunate man's head struck the run-down retaining wall made of brick. His body lay broken at the base of the tree.
