You Know My Name: A Tale of Gotham Nights

[JCady]

This is why I love the Riddler; he drives broody old Bats spare, without being as utterly nutzoid crazy as Joker. He's a villain you can almost love...

[Kodiak]

Is there a particular reason all your chapter titles are song titles? Or did you just like it that way.

[CaptainChewbacca]

Is there a particular reason all your chapter titles are song titles? Or did you just like it that way.

Holy...

Publius IS the Riddler!

[SCRawl]

Publius: have you been writing this all the while, or was it (more or less) complete before, to be released in dribs and drabs? I only ask because the quality of the writing seems high enough that if you've been posting it as you've been doing the writing, your pen is mighty indeed.

[Trogdor]

Excellently done, sir! As Chewie said earlier, the riddle was indeed worthy of Edward Nigma. I myself though of the curds/Kurd/Mullah connection but couldn't even make a guess at the rest of it.

[Publius]

The Riddler's riddles have always been a combination of cleverness and bad punning. His very first appearance was a brilliant heist in which "banquet" was in fact a pun on "bank wet": he'd flooded a bank in order to release a pressure-locked vault. The riddle in this story was a modest attempt to imitate that successful blend of a straightforward riddle with a cheat.

Also, Jason Todd was far too obvious a candidate to be Red Riding Hood (which, as LadyTevar points out, is a female character in the first place). Even the description of her costume is a blatant Spoiler Warning:



Without color, is this Spoiler or Red Riding Hood?

In addition to the visual component, the red moniker is strongly suggested by her brief career as Robin (the adult Dick Grayson of Earth-96 even went so far as to call himself Red Robin).

Is there a particular reason all your chapter titles are song titles? Or did you just like it that way.

In several cases, the title is actually a hint at what is to come in the chapter ("I've Just Seen a Face," "Send in the Clowns," "Hips Don't Lie," and "You Know My Name" all hint at major developments or character appearances in the chapter). Additionally, since this is a comic story, each installment ought to have a distinct title, preferably along a theme (The Long Halloween had holidays, Dark Victory had concepts). The title itself is a song, so the song subtitles seemed appropriate.

Publius: have you been writing this all the while, or was it (more or less) complete before, to be released in dribs and drabs? I only ask because the quality of the writing seems high enough that if you've been posting it as you've been doing the writing, your pen is mighty indeed.

The idea for the story is about a year old, but it's being posted more or less as each chapter is completed (for obvious reasons, "Hips Don't Lie" was delayed until "You Know My Name" was ready).

[Publius]

Chapter Eighteen: Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me

It had not been easy, not by any stretch of the imagination. The death of the Czaritsa had set the whole underground into a flurry of motion, much of it aimless, mindless. In all that movement, it had been almost impossible to track down the Mad Hatter, who was now the top pick to run the Black Mask syndicate. That had not been in the scenario, Tim was sure of that. He himself had nearly missed the Mullah's appearance at the cathedral, and he had far better surveillance resources than anyone else in the city. He had the family business at his disposal.

The Hatter had slipped away from the hotel and headed to the harbor. Of course, the harbor. When Two-Face had beaten Steph half to death, she'd made a bee line for the harbor; there must have been some kind of exfiltration site there.

Tim surveyed the area through his miniature binoculars. The Hatter and his driver were there; the driver was wearing a derby with an oversized white price tag in the band. A thrall. He wouldn't talk. There were a few other men standing nearby. He increased the resolution on the binoculars. Hm. One of the other men was wearing a white cloak over a black and red bodysuit. The Suicide King. No surprise there — he'd been a member of the Network the first time around, and had showed his face in Gotham on occasion since then. Probably he'd been left behind to see after Athena's residual interests. One of the other man looked like... yes. Mr. Fun. Another of Athena's operatives, her pet assassin. A dangerous and pyschopathic killer, but a really nice guy other than that.

"O, this is R," he said, keying his throat-mic. "Three positives. Mad Hatter, Suicide King, and Mr. Fun."

"Roger, R," came Babs's crisp reply. "I'm routing reinforcements your way."

There was a small boat approaching the docks, quietly. As Bruce was fond of saying, sound is a product of bad design. Three occupants debarked. Tim recognized them immediately: Freeway, the martial artist and infiltrator; Dr. Excess, the so-called "doctor of human potential"; and Athena herself, the matronly gangster who'd ruined more lives than Tim could count. She'd made a career out of destroying companies in order to loot their assets, and had come to Gotham to plunder Wayne Enterprises as well as taking revenge for the death of her lover, Lorenzo Rossetti, a mafioso who'd been killed at his own father's orders after stealing from a rival family. She'd lost her son in the process, and blamed Batman personally for it. It was a good explanation for her return to the city of crime and punishment.

The Hatter was saying something to her. He was turned away; Tim couldn't read his lips. She frowned, then started to answer. Something about a radical change in plans. It would be necessary to —

Movement on the boat. Ah, that would be her spymaster, the voyeuristic Bugg. He wore a mask that obscured his face. Athena turned back and started barking out orders. Call for reinforcements. She was naming names. Suicide King and Mad Hatter were moving into action.

"O," he said. "There's something up. They're calling for muscle, and lots of it. Any luck with those leads I gave you?"

"That's a roger, R," said the Oracle. "You were absolutely right. They're making a move and in a big way. I'm calling up all operatives and sending them your way. Stand by."

Tim frowned. Things were moving faster than he'd anticipated, but he'd been right. He waited and watched.

People were starting to arrive. The syndicate's soldiers. Whole crews. Enforcers. And then there were freaks. The syndicate's muscle was getting ready for a fight.

This was going to be messy.

* * * * * * * *

It was to the mattresses, then. The word was passed. Weapons were made ready. The striking forces were assembled and given their orders. They were already on their way.

Between Two-Face and the Penguin, there was a surprising amount of muscle available beyond the simple gangsters with guns. Bane. Deadshot. Philo Zeiss. The Angel of Death. Firefly.

The Cadillac DTS was ready to go. Two-Face, the Mullah, and the Tally Man climbed in, each having already seen to his weapons. The first of the night's surprises climbed in after them, his teeth clenched tightly around a long black cigarette holder.

"You're coming with us?" Two-Face frowned. "You haven't been out on the streets in years."

"It isn't every day an outsider tries to make a fool of us all. Sometimes," said the Penguin, a Churchillian scowl on his face, "Sometimes, a man has to get his hands dirty."

* * * * * * * *

Gentlemen, start your engines.

* * * * * * * *

"O, this place is getting thick. You'd better get those reinforcements out here ASAP."

"ETA five minutes, R."

"I don't know that you're going to have that long, O," Tim said, grimacing. "What's the word on the other mobs' striking crew?"

"Not good. Some of them — "

There was an explosion. Looked like a rocket-propelled grenade. One of those party favors the Penguin liked to distribute to his men for special occasions. There was a reason the smaller third of Gotham's underground was still a threat to the larger two-thirds. The sounds of gunfire soon joined it.

"Too late," Tim swore. "The police?"

"QRT is scrambling already."

"You'd better warn them," Tim said with a grimace. "It's getting ugly already." He was surprised at how quickly the situation had degenerated already.

War at last.

* * * * * * * *

"Unacceptable," said Athena, her voice like iron shrouded in velvet. "How did they know where to find us in the first place?"

They were moving with all possible dispatch to the nearby warehouse, the better to take cover in. A cadre of goombas surrounded them, a precaution entirely warranted in the rather blistering firefight that had suddenly developed.

"The Riddler," came the answer. Bugg shook his head. "It had to be the Riddler. I don't know how he found out, but he's the only possible source. The man knows far too much."

"He'll be dealt with." Athena was a woman with nerves of steel. She wasn't going to let something like a rapidly blossoming gang war prevent her from making plans for the future. "Jervis, I want this situation contained. Find out where the bosses behind this attack are, and deal with them."

"That... may prove difficult, milady," he said. "I've an intimation of a feeling that leads me to suspect the hands of the Mullah and Two-Face. The girl has not done a good showing against either."

"Don't be fatuous, Jervis," she said, as they entered the main enclosure of the warehouse. "I didn't say to send the girl. If she cannot deal with them, send the clown."

"Yes, by all means," came another voice, a voice that sent chills down the spine. "Send in the clowns."

They turned to see the voice's owner emerge from the shadows. Green hair framed a broad forehead over coal-black eyes blazing against white skin; skin that was as white as bones, as white as a shroud. Blood-red lips twisted into a rictus grin. "Don't bother," he said. "They're here."

* * * * * * * *

" — roger that, O," Tim acknowledged. "I see him now."

He held the binoculars up to his eyes. "It looks like — "

"He rocks in the treetop all day long..."

Tim froze immediately.

He'd know that voice anywhere, the singsong tone she'd often used when gloating about something.

"R? R, are you there? R?"

She was there, on the roof behind him, her body language decidedly hostile. He could almost see the feral smile beneath her mask.

There was a scrape of metal against leather.

She lunged —

[LadyTevar]

Well well... I think Robin's on The List now.

And the WildCard's shown himself... time to see on which side of the table the Clown Prince will fall.

PS: Cute touch using the Batman movie themes as titles.

[CaptainChewbacca]

Damn, you're good. How do the mob families not see the similarities to the 'War Games' storyline?

Also, any chance of a certain M. Malone showing up?

[Publius]

Chapter Nineteen: Shake, Rattle and Roll

"What are you doing here?" Athena's voice did not waver, showed no signs of the fear that normally confronted the man who laughs.

He chuckled, a low rumbling noise that set men's nerves on edge. "I happened to be in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop by," he said.

The others were wary, hands on whatever weapons were handy. He'd been a part of Athena's scenario from the very beginning, but that didn't make him one whit less dangerous. Field marshal of crime that she was, she did not let his sudden appearance derail her train of thought. "Jervis and Justin," she said, addressing the Mad Hatter and the Suicide King, "You have tactical command." She turned to Bugg and Freeway: "Hector and Terence, you have strategic command and control. Mr. Fun, stand by. You two," she said to two of the most loyal gunmen standing nearby, "with me."

She collected the gunmen and walked over to join the white-faced nightmare, who'd slunk back into the shadows again. "What do you want?"

His breathing had a strange quality to it, the way he inhaled and exhaled heavily through his nose, leaving his mouth affixed into that ghoulish smile. He looked like death warmed over.

"So if an old friend I know drops by to say hello," he said in a mournful tone, "Would I still see suspicion in your eyes?"

"I don't have time for nonsense," Athena answered quite flatly. "If that's why you've come, then be on your way. There are people I want you to kill."

And then suddenly his smile changed — the lips remained the same but the look in his eyes shifted abruptly, giving his whole physiognomy an entirely new quality to it. It was a remarkable transformation. "I heard a story through the grapevine," he began, his eyes fixed steadily on hers; he produced a deck of playing cards from within his sleeve and began to shuffle them. "About a boy named Lorenzo. Cesare Rossetti's kid — maybe you've heard of him? Seems Enzo was a scrapper, stole a lot of mob money and fled to Europe. When the going got tough, the tough got getting."

Athena's lips pressed together a bit more tightly. It was a safe bet she cared for neither the topic nor the double entendre.

His grin remained steady, but his eyes grew far colder, manipulating the cards in ways that seasoned stage magicians would have killed to be able to imitate. "You made the beast with two backs with Enzo Rossetti and you spawned a little brat. A little brat that came to Gotham with you and played at your scam. A little brat that died of a radical vertical impact — " that is to say, he took a long fall with a flat stop — "And a little birdie tells me you pinned the blame on my bat. Have I missed anything so far?"

"I owe you no explanations," she said in a Siberian tone.

"I think you'll find," he said, drawing the cards out into a fan and then collapsing them suddenly, "that you do."

It happened so quickly that there was no warning at all. First the cards were in his hands, and then they'd materialized in the gunmen's throats, slashing them open with appalling ease. Now you see them, now you don't. By the time the others in the warehouse had any inkling something had happened, he had seized Athena and pulled her toward him, spinning her around so she faced the rest of the warehouse and stood between her enforcers and her erstwhile ally. His right hand was clamped around her jaw like a mechanical vise; his left hand held the queen of hearts to her throat.

"Perched and sat on a bust of Pallas above my chamber door," he said in a husky voice, his breath falling heavily on the side of her face. He looked up at the wall of guns pointed at him. "I suggest your boys put away their toys," he said nastily, "Or else quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.'"

To accentuate his point, the playing hard pressed ever so slightly against her throat. She could feel the razor edge begin to scrape skin.

"Do as he says," she said in an admirably steely voice.

Hesitantly, begrudgingly, the weapons lowered. There was a chuckle in her ear that suddenly gave way to a forceful voice laced with equal parts venom and madness.

"You've been away from Gotham for a long time, sweetheart, and the rules have changed since you grew up here. You're a reasonable woman, and I'm a reasonable man, so I'm going to explain something to you. This is my world. You're just living in it. All the world's a stage, and you can play your act, but never forget who is the star. The bat is the perfect foil, you see, and he belongs to me. To me, do you hear? To me! Mine, to torture and maim and kill, as I please. Do not presume to pad your part, sweetheart, do not think to upstage me. If you so much as harm one hair on his head, I will wreak unforgettable harm on you and everything you have ever loved."

He leaned in closer still, his ruby lips nearly touching her ear. Of all things, his hot breath smelled of cinnamon and sugar. "Do not test me," he whispered in a sepulchral tone, "When the freaks want to scare each other, they tell Joker stories."

The lights suddenly extinguished and the skylight of the warehouse shattered into a million scintillating shards as a great black nightmare descended, its enormous cloak spread out like the wings of some nameless eldritch horror. There was panic. There was shooting. There was mindless fear. It was there, among them, moving like a living shadow, shifting, roiling, ravenous. Paralyzing, chthonic terror gripped them as this great and terrible thing preyed upon them. Shots rang out, half-thought-out orders were barked, but still it prowled, still it pursued, still it ravaged. Silently. Perfectly.

For it was vengeance.

It was the night.

Batman.

* * * * * * * *

The docks of Gotham harbor had been trasnfigured by blood and fire into a war zone the likes of which had not been seen in America since No Man's Land — and before that, the Civil War. The tensions that had been rising ever since the first gang war had at last boiled over, and there were accounts to be settled. And Gotham City had no shortage of rough men standing ready to settle accounts. Some of North America's most vicious gangsters and deadliest freaks were numbered among the combatants. Whole city blocks were already being embroiled in the fighting.

In any other city in America, a gang war might mean a feud to be settled with hitmen and drive-by shootings and car bombs. In Gotham City, it meant precisely that: war. With all the destructiveness a flourishing black market in guns and ordnance could muster. There were not merely submachine guns and pistols; there were belt-fed machine guns, mortars, rocket-propelled grenades, everything that North America's largest and best funded criminal underground could get their hands on.

The police were already on the scene, but it was far too much for the Quick Response Team to handle alone. All units were being scrambled.

But they were not alone.

There were others among them, others who donned masks and did not go gentle into the cold and lonely night. The whole of the extended family was among them: Nightwing, first and greatest of the Dark Knight's allies, dashing daredevil acrobat and zenith of human physical prowess. Batgirl, martial arts in human form, hand-to-hand combatant without peer. The Huntress, mob princess turned vigilante. Black Canary, international agent of espionage and sabotage with a lovely singing voice. Lady Blackhawk, ace pilot with fists of steel and a heart of gold. The Question, tireless searcher for truth. Onyx, assassin turned bodyguard, now leader of the Hill Street Gang. Tarantula, agile and cunning vigilante and leader of the Arañas. There was even a black-coated visitor from New York, whom Tim Drake would have given an arm and a leg to have met.

It would have been glorious had it not been so terrible.

"Report, Mr. Matthews," the Penguin said, as he surveyed the scene. He had not made the least effort to take cover or even reduce his target profile. With his dazzling white waistcoat, bowtie, kid gloves, and distinctive black silk top hat, it was almost as though he were daring people to shoot at him. The same was decidedly not true of his caddy, cringing behind the surreptitiously armored van the tetrarchy crew was using for cover.

The mob crew leader thus addressed jerked a thumb in the direction of a barricade hastily thrown up by the syndicate soldiers. In the chaos of No Man's Land, Gotham City residents had become disturbingly skilled at throwing up barricades. "They got a pretty good chokepoint set up, boss," he said, as bullets whistled by. "Uh, shouldn't you duck, sir?"

"Nonsense," he said, his jaw working as he clenched the cigarette holder between his teeth. "They are less than bourgeoisie, and aim very badly." He examined the barricade with a critical eye. "Two-Face, Mawlay, make ready for a breakthrough along 26th Street, near the Dixon," he said into a convenient radio. He gestured to the Tally Man, who was directing fire not too far away. "Stand by," he said, somehow making himself heard over the cacophany of gunfire without resorting to shout.

His caddy drew near with the golfer's bag full of umbrellas. The Penguin examined the bag with inhuman sangfroid as rounds screamed past his head. "Ah," he squawked, a thin smile on his lips, puffing generously on the cigarette. He removed an umbrella from the golf bag, frowned, then replaced it and selected another. He squawked again in approval, and turned to the crew leader. "The Tally Man will take charge here. Make ready to move once I've disposed of that barricade."

"Uh, boss?"

"O ye of little faith," he said with an indulgent smile. It was not for nothing that the Penguin was not merely a mob boss, but also a member of the Batman's rogues gallery. Though he had not taken to the streets in years, he had not gotten to where he was today by writing checks. In his right hand he held an umbrella that was chambered for .30-06 Springfield with a muzzle velocity of well over two thousand feet per second. He hooked the handle of the umbrella in his left hand around his foot, and it telescoped immediately, exposing a surprisingly complex mechanism. "Up, up, and away," he said with a carnivorous smile, as his single-man helicopter took flight. Hasty barricades were not generally thrown together with the intention of repelling air raids.

There was a great deal to be said for combining the arsenal of the Penguin with the resources of the Great White Shark and the ruthlessness of Two-Face and the Mullah. The tetrarchy was successfully holding off the police and slowly but steadily pushing back the syndicate.

* * * * * * * *

In the docks of Gotham harbor, a war was raging. It was terrible, it was fierce, and it was loud.

And so it was that no one heard the steady tick, tock, tick tock....

[Rawtooth]

For it was vengeance.

It was the night.

Batman.

YES! This is a great piece of story telling Publius and I can't wait to see how this ends.

[CaptainChewbacca]

Publius, I have to wonder why you don't work for DC Comics. Also, is the 'black-coated New Yorker' perhaps sporting a skull on his T-shirt?

[Enigma]

Publius, I have to wonder why you don't work for DC Comics. Also, is the 'black-coated New Yorker' perhaps sporting a skull on his T-shirt?

That wouldn't make any sense to have the Punisher there. Batman hates his guts. And why would Tim want to meet him?

Anyways, great story.

[CaptainChewbacca]

True. BTW, Publius, your characterization of the villains is MAGNIFICENT. They aren't just guys in costumes, they're some of the most malevolent, unbalanced, gifted people in crime. And Joker's manic love/protection of Batman is spot-on.

[Publius]

Chapter Twenty: Rockin' Robin

Tim Drake had never fought so hard in his life.

It was not that she was the most skilled adversary he'd ever fought — far from it, in fact. Although she was no pushover — relative to the large majority of the civilian population, she was in fact a human wrecking ball — the simple fact of the matter was that compared to him, she was still disadvantaged by a significant deficit in both training and experience. She was actually a lot stronger, yes, a little bit faster, and even more agile (years of experience as a gymnast, which he lacked), but the race was not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong. In absolute terms, Tim was a significantly more accomplished combatant in nearly every practical measure.

The problem was that he was trying very hard not to hurt the love of his life, while she was trying every bit as hard to kill him.

It seemed he was finally on her list.

The Mad Hatter must have ramped up the mind control after the fight at St. Athanasius's; gone were the veiled warnings disguised as threats, gone was the struggle against the endless psychic pressure. Gone, in short, was the vestigial presence of Stephanie Brown. In her place there was only Red Riding Hood, she of the envenomed short sword and the fondness for gas grenades and shuriken. Every time he tried to open the distance between them, she let loose with a veritable hail of the vicious little trinkets, more even than Tim could deflect; they were lodged in his cape, in his gauntlets, in his cuirass. His face was cut open and bleeding.

He kept her at bay as best as he could, his telescoping bo giving him the advantage of reach at close quarters, which was a definite plus. Her wrist movements were definitely slower — a result, no doubt, of the shuriken he'd embedded in it during their last encounter. He winced despite himself, hating the knowledge that he'd done that to Stephanie. He'd hit her, he'd stabbed her. How could he do that to the girl he loved? Despite the weakened wrist, the odds for a successful repeat of disarming her weren't good, as she seemed to have learned from their previous encounter: her wakizashi was now attached to a lanyard around her wrist. Well, nuts. It was just his luck that she'd start being really clever after being brainwashed into a ruthless mafia hitgirl.

She was slashing at him fast and furiously, with all the single-minded viciousness she'd displayed when going after the underbosses on her list. She was content to aim at just about anything — fingers, elbow, neck, ears. The liberal coating of tetrodotoxin on her blade would take care of the rest. It was actually frightening, knowing that it was her that was trying to kill him. He couldn't hit her, not now that he knew who it was beneath the Red Riding Hood's mask. It was all he could do to hold her back; he gave ground freely, trading space for time to think.

Well, think, damn it, he swore at himself. Think of something. Anything.

He withdrew as best as he could. She lunged, and he felt something impact against his side. He spared a glance —

Flashbang.

He stumbled back, dazed, and tumbled over the side of the roof, landing on a fire escape. Tim only barely managed to roll away in time to avoid a shuriken where his eye had been, and beat a hasty retreat down the rickety metal frame. She followed, moving with a kind of liquid grace made of curves that made it difficult to think. Years of gymnastics had their advantages. What the hell was wrong with him? She was trying to kill him. This was no time for a libido to kick in.

Think.

She moved more like Dick than like him, a product of her background as a gymnast; he'd developed his fighting style ex nihilo rather than by modifying an existing like they had. He knew in theory all kinds of weaknesses in the way she would move, the way she fought — but those were from sparring practices, when he'd been teaching her. She hadn't been trying to cut his head off or envenom him with a horrible nerve toxin.

"Twinkle, twinkle, little bat," called a voice, two parts whimsy and one part malice. "How I wonder what you're at. Having problems, Boy Wonder?"

The Mad Hatter.

Tim sidestepped another slash, and discarded the thought of a tangler grenade; the last thing he needed was to improve her grip on that stupid wakizashi. He didn't know where she'd gotten her new one, but he found himself wondering why he'd ever given her the first one in the first place. He leapted up and grabbed the ladder from the fire escape, bringing it crashing down in time to catch her thrust. A burst of inspiration, and he'd tangled her wrist with a length of line.

"Personally, I don't know her from Adam — well, Eve, as it were — " called the Hatter, drinking from a cup of tea, "But she does seem to have some kind of discombobulating effect on your lot, doesn't she? That's why we chose her. That, and she's easy on the eyes, after all. Lovely girl. All curves."

"If you've touched one hair on her head — " Tim snarled, surprising even himself with the wrath in his voice. To his disappointment, she'd already used one of her old crescent-shaped shuriken to slice through the line he'd used to lash her to the fire escape.

"Why so uffish, I wonder?" the Hatter said, taking another sip. "Do you really think I'd molest a little girl?" He paused, and mulled that over for a moment. "Well, I wouldn't. Seems you don't like the idea, eh? Hit a sore point, have I?"

He stood there, at the end of the alley, calmly observing the fight. "Magnificent, isn't she? Give her a few years, and she'll be perfect. Oh, what a frabjous day that'll be. I must say, a rather like having my very own red queen. You have no idea how many people I've killed with her hands. I don't know why I never thought of it, myself. You've been a real nuisance, you'll be glad to know. I went ahead and added you to the list. Quite an honor, you know. You're in distinguished company."

Focus, Tim told himself. He's just trying to distract you.

She lunged again, and he gave way. Again, and he gave way. She dropped another flashbang, and then did something he didn't expect at all: when he moved to avoid the flashbang, she threw down a Spoiler capsule — filled with one of her father's signature concoctions. This time, a slick. He lost his footing and went down hard. She made a bee line straight for his head.

Tim kicked out and swept her legs out from under her, then hastily backpeddled and got to his feet. In the process, he seemed to have dropped his bo. Wonderful, he thought. On the plus side, I can definitely take her in a hand to hand fight. On the minus side, it's not hand to hand when she's still got that damn short sword.

"I don't think she's the chivalrous type, my boy," the Hatter called, clearly enjoying this little show. "Why don't you just take the fight to her, eh? Distracted by her nubile young body? Will 't be manxome beauty what slays the frumious bird?"

She came at him again, and he whipped his cape up to catch the blow. One of the advantages of the N/K armorweave: The capes were durable and, with lead weights sown into the tips, could be pressed into service as a makeshift weapon if need be. As it happened just then, need be'd. Her blade off center, he whipped around the other end of his cape and entangled her in it. While she was thus disposed, he snatched the 'R' from his breast and sliced the lanyard attaching the wakizashi to her wrist. She was almost free; he sacrificed precious seconds to retrieve a corrosive capsule from his utility belt — again, another concoction of her father, that clever if misguided chemist the Cluemaster — and deployed it on the blade, directly where it attached to the hilt.

Realizing that her weapon was lost, she released it and immediately locked him into a choke hold. Of course. She had him dead to rights, locked in, pressure directly on the carotid artery. He had only seconds before he'd black out. He should have seen it coming.

In fact, he had.

"Forgive me," he whispered hoarsely, before striking at her still-injured wrist as hard as he could. She screamed and loosened her grip. He turned his hip, caught her, and tossed her. She rolled on her right shoulder —

— exactly as he'd known she would.

By the time she came back up, he'd reached out and snatched off the mask of the Red Death.

For the first time in more than a year, Tim lay eyes on the girl who was the love of his life. The golden blonde hair, cut short in a pageboy bob. The pearly white teeth. The flawless, creamy skin. For only a brief instant he saw the beautiful, crystal-clear blue eyes as they rolled back into her sockets and she passed out.

Tim looked down at the mask in his hand, and to his satisfaction saw that it had been impregnated with the Mad Hatter's mind control circuitry, a particularly advanced suite that showed signs of a recent upgrade. In his hands was the tool by which she had been controlled, the slave's yoke by which she'd been forced to commit God only knew how many murders. It was shaking. It took him a few seconds to realize that the mask wasn't moving. Rather it was the hand that held that was trembling. It was not fear that caused it to tremble. It was volcanic rage.

He looked up, and slowly turned to face the head of the alley, his blood-sticky face painted with an altogether darker expression.

"Oh," said the Mad Hatter. "Sh—"

[CaptainChewbacca]

Point to Tim! EXCELLENT! I wonder if the Hatter will live. I loved his dialogue, btw, with the made-up wonderlandian words.

[Publius]

Finale: Fly Me to the Moon


Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

* * * * * * * *

"I suggest you stay away, Batsy," called the man who laughs, still holding Athena in a death grip. "I have to say, my nerves ain't what they used to be. Why, the slightest jolt could give me such a start, and then it'd be curtains for Granny here."

"Listen," Athena said in a voice that was surprisingly calm given the madhouse the warehouse had degenerated into, "Why don't you release me, and we can leave before he finds us? I have a boat at the dock that — "

"Don't insult my intelligence, sweetheart," he interrupted, sotto voce. "You'd have left in the boat already had that been an option. Pengers has far too much ordnance on the waterfront for that to be anything but suicide."

He was maneuvering them slowly further into the warehouse, no doubt toward the very route he'd used to gain access in the first place. "Don't get any funny ideas, either. Comedy's my department, and I don't like people stealing my schtick. Try anything clever and I'll put a smile on your face."

There was two figures standing nearby; a glimmer of moonlight came through a window, revealing them. The first was a black man with a black leather coat and a fez bedecked in a yellow, black, and green pattern. The second was a white man wearing suspenders and a power tie, with a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched atop his nose.

"Ah," Athena said, "Freeway. Mr. Fun. I wonder if you'd be so kind — "

They both slumped forward and fell gracelessly — and face first — to the floor.

"I'll be honest," said Nightwing. "I've met tougher men. But not many. You know one of them, I think."

"Celia Kazantkakis," said the shadows, in a pale cold voice like dead leaves on stone. "You have a great deal to answer for."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Batsy," said the grinning psychopath. "She's the hostage, in case you hadn't — "

One of the windows shattered as an anthropomorphic object was thrown face first through it, to land in a crumpled and moaning clutter. It resembled the Mad Hatter.

"Well, well, well! The gang's all here. Well, boys, not that this isn't fun, but — "

He didn't finish that thought; it was a simple trick, breaking off at an unnatural point in a conversation to steal a few precious seconds. Athena was shoved roughly at Nightwing as razor-edged playing cards ripped through the tulgey darkness.

A weapon appeared in the old woman's hands, pointed squarely at the living shadow, the dark avenger who'd stalked Gotham for all these years. "For my son," she said in a cold voice, her finger squeezing the trigger —

— it ejected a short flagstaff with a banner marked 'BANG'.

"What in — " She chuckled. And chortled. And then a look of horror crossed her face; she ran her hand across the thin scratch on her throat, where he'd held the playing card. "But — we had a deal!" She laughed. She laughed until tears streamed down her face. She laughed until it hurt.

"What can I say?" came the answer, as he grinned from ear to ear. "We did, we really did. We totally had a deal. But I'm afraid you already played the hand we dealt. It's a new hand, toots — and this time, the Joker's wild."

* * * * * * * *

Tick, tock, tick —

* * * * * * * *

The explosion ripped through the warehouse with a sudden fury that dwarfed the fighting outside. The whole building shuttered, and more than a quarter of the structure collapsed straightaway.

"Oops," said the man who laughs. "Did I do that?"

"Nightwing! Robin! Get these people out of here!" The Dark Knight was on the move already, going after the hideous white-faced ghoul who had already done far too much.

"Better hurry, Bats!" he shouted with glee. "I've got a baker's dozen all over the harbor." As if to punctuate his words, a second blast rocked the warehouse, and the fire was already spreading. "Oh, it'll be a hot one, in the old town tonight!" Laughter. Hysterical laughter. It was all so f—in' hilarious.

He was running now, headed a side exit he'd carefully concealed when he'd first arrived to place his party favors. Suddenly he became aware that the exit was blocked by a shadow where there shouldn't have been one. A shadow that drew itself to its full height, a silhouette that was all too familiar.

"Oh," said the man who laughs. "Well, that isn't funny at all."

* * * * * * * *

Boom. Another bomb went off, this time in another warehouse down the street.

"Nightwing!" Tim shouted, as he hoisted Mr. Fun over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. "Where's Athena?"

* * * * * * * *

She stumbled out the side entrance, coughing and unable to see clearly in the thick black smoke already pouring from the warehouse. Another bomb went off down the street. That maniac was trying to kill them all. She never should have trusted him in the first place.

Well, that wasn't an entirely accurate description. Not that she had trusted him, exactly. More accurate to say she never should have used him.

The measure of her trust had come from the chemical cocktail Dr. Excess had cooked up for the occasion.

"I'm not sure this antidote will actually work," he'd said at the time, handing her the small jet injector. "For obvious reasons, it should only be used in case of an emergency."

Well done, indeed. To her great surprise — and everlasting gratitude — the stuff had actually worked. Perhaps it was the fact that she had only been grazed. She wasn't terribly concerned about that. Her whole body ached, and she needed to escape —

There was a series of clicking noises she immediately recognized as the hammers of unfriendly metal things. She looked up, squinting; her eyesight wasn't doing very well at the moment. There, standing about three yards away, were the four people she least wanted to see in all the world.

Well, three of them. The fourth had only sent a representative.

"Ah," she said hoarsely. "Very well, then. Good evening, gentlemen." She straightened out to her full height. "Of course. How utterly proper."

* * * * * * * *

Tim looked into the inferno that had been the warehouse. He would not leave someone behind in this blazing hell.

"That's everyone, Robin!" Dick shouted from further back. "Let's go!"

Boom. A third bomb caught them by surprise, far closer than the others. The concussive force knocked them both down, throwing Dick out of the warehouse altogether, while it knocked Tim against a column of packing crates that collapsed on him. He weakly pushed the debris off himself and struggled to his feet.

What was left of the building was collapsing all around him. The ceiling gave way. Was that the noise of another clock running?

He wasn't going to make it.

Just as the fourth bomb exploded, he felt someone leap into him, pushing him clear of the building before it collapsed altogether. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was a flutter of red —

* * * * * * * *

As Tim slowly came to, the first thing he became aware of was the sound of his earpiece tracking police progress reports. It seemed the tetrarchy forces had withdrawn, leaving the disorganized and mostly leaderless syndicate forces to the police. The media were already reporting the record busts that had taken place tonight, including quite a few men on the FBI's Most Wanted list. Careers were being made out there.

The Joker had been captured, the reports noted. No mention of the Batman, of course; he was strictly an urban legend. The policeman passing the report to headquarters did note, however, that the lunatic appeared to have beaten himself completely unconscious and manacled his ankles to his wrists behind his back, after having thoughtfully removed all the hideously dangerous articles in his pockets.

As he opened his eyes, his first suspicion was that he'd died. That was, after all, the natural explanation for the angel smiling at him.

"Hi," Stephanie said.

"Hi," Tim answered weakly.

"Can you move at all?" she asked.

A smile worked its way across his lips. "Move? You're alive. If you want, I can fly."

[CaptainChewbacca]

So, I wonder, was it all the Joker's plan to just cause chaos and blow up all the criminals in Gotham except for himself?

[Publius]

So, I wonder, was it all the Joker's plan to just cause chaos and blow up all the criminals in Gotham except for himself?

He'd actually placed the bombs simply to blow up the docks. That the gangsters were having their war there was an unexpected bonus.

[CaptainChewbacca]

So, I wonder, was it all the Joker's plan to just cause chaos and blow up all the criminals in Gotham except for himself?

That's more or less the long and the short of it. He is not exactly the stable sort; he went to threaten Athena to keep away from Batman, when he'd already put bombs in place that probably would have killed her anyway.

Say what you will for Joker, his plans are always entertaining. I'm still unclear as to who the New York hero was, though.

[Publius]

Say what you will for Joker, his plans are always entertaining. I'm still unclear as to who the New York hero was, though.

As it is intended, actually.

Now that all of the key mysteries have been revealed, any questions anyone may have about the story can be safely answered. Ergo, feel free to ask.

[Vehrec]

I'll bite. How did Steph come back from the dead? And will she celebrate her return by taking Cass shopping?

[Mayabird]

I just started reading this story a couple days ago. Wonderful story! Characters, action, really bad puns, everything, and it actually gets completed, too. You should get it posted in the completed fanfics section so it doesn't get lost in the shuffle.

[Gullible Jones]

Hmm... Could the New Yorker possibly be the one sporting a scarf, a fedora, and twin .45s?

[CaptainChewbacca]

Hmm... Could the New Yorker possibly be the one sporting a scarf, a fedora, and twin .45s?

I think that's the Question, actually.