Batman: Strange Gospel

[Mr. E. Liturazy]

He'd been perched here upon the head of his hideous gargoyle for hours. So long that frosty white caked his cowl and shoulders, that his fingers had gone numb and his face felt like they were being poked with pins and needles. It would be wrong to say it didn't bother him, he was but a man underneath that mask, but it did not affect him. Even with the numbness and frostbite setting into his bones he stayed perched, as still as the gargoyle he was set upon. Here he listened to the cacophony of the city, The carolers singing Silent Night a block away, the couple having a quarrel about molded bread two apartments down, the weeping boy who's father didn't make it home last night who was just reported found dead at the docks.

Same melody, different night. The same melody that serenaded him out when the sun sunk into the horizon and the moon rose into the murky Gotham sky. Out of that hole he called his base of operations. The sound of his leathery cape on the wind alerted the scum down below, the scum that pulled up in their car to pull off a mob hit that he was there. That their life as they knew it was over.

"Shit, it's the Bat!" The goon who stepped up on the sidewalk muttered to the others, staring up at the caped figure that stood dozens of stories above their heads. Batman's blank white eyes narrowed, he recognized the one heading the pack wearing a large coat and knitted beanie atop of his shaved head. Victor Zsasz, a serial killer who marked his victims on his skin with tall tallies that he carved with a knife. Batman had heard that Zsasz was on Falcone's payroll, but he was iffy. Zsasz wasn't a hitman, he was a sick demented soul that killed for some semblance of joy in his life,

"Fuck the Bat." Zsasz boldly stated, making his way toward the front of the building, the small group of mobsters following after him. He changed the whole game, Batman's plan was to loom over them, strike fear into their hearts. Get them to retreat and back off, it was more beneficial that way. That way when he followed them on foot he could find a hideout or a drug stash...but Zsasz boldness, his very reputation as a coldblooded killer, their numbers...it boosted their morale enough to continue their hit.

To them, Batman would be wise to steer clear.

Moving across the snowcapped ledge, he slipped inside of a window, silently moving across the den of a man watching Monday Night Football. The man looked over at the window, rubbing his bare arms, then yelling to his wife about leaving the window open. By then, the cloaked figure was slipping out his front door and into the hallway.

He raced through the narrow hallway.

Their mark was two floors below.

On his way to the stairwell, he peered up at the elevator. The marker read that the elevator was on floor thirteen, just one floor below their target. They'd arrived ahead of him, they were probably stepping off the elevator at this moment, knocking on their mark's door.

He vaulted over the railing, he descended into a freefall. He counted the floors as they passed mentally, positioned himself in mid-air and grasped the upcoming railing. A normal man would have pulled his shoulder straight out of his socket doing something so brash, Batman on the other hand was using his cape as a buffer, slowing his momentary descent that went straight into his vault over the railing and into the hallway.

There they were, quickly approaching their man's door. Harvey Bullock was their hit, seeing as how they had Mr. Zsasz carrying this out, they wanted to hurt Bullock. They didn't want to just kill Bullock, they wanted to make him feel it.

"Shit--! Light this freak up!!" One of the goons commanded--

Guns were drawn, bullets were fired, and without hesitation Batman dove into the maelstrom of gunfire--

An elegant creature the Batman was, he could jump head first into gunfire and not get tagged not once. Even in a narrow corridor such as this, he still managed to do the impossible and evade every volley. A swing of his arm, three batarangs slipped from his fingertips.

Sparks flew as one connected with a gun, throwing off it's aim. Another connected with a man's hand causing his knuckles to snap like twigs. The third struck one of the goons right in the nose, breaking his expensive shades in two. Mr. Zsasz stood amidst the men, calmly standing there with his cutlery gripped tightly.

The distance was closed, most of the men were immobilized. Batman's fist sailed across the air, breaking Zsasz's jaw while the man was wildly swiping his Ginsu knife at the cloaked figure, nothing but the finest for Mr. Zsasz--

They fell to the floor, rolling--

With a freakish strength, Zsasz pinned Batman to the floor, cocking his knife high above his head--

"Number sixty-seven--!" Hissed Zsasz, stabbing at Batman's skull--

He craned his neck to the side, narrowly dodging certain death. He kicked his legs up, the rubber soles of his shoes connecting with the back of Zsasz's head, causing him to fall forward--

"Graaahh--!!" The man roared, bashing his face on a doorknob--

"Hrrn!" Batman slid from under Zsasz, quickly scrambling to his feet, kicking the psychotic man who was nursing his gaping eyebrow under his hand. Standing over him with the collar of his coat in hand, he didn't let up, he pounded his fist into his face relentlessly. One fist after the next until Zsasz's face was just a pile of mushy, swollen gore, until he had his blood dripping from his fists, growling rabidly over him while thinking of every little girl Zsasz skinned. Of every little boy he carved into.

"Sixty-six, Zsasz...sixty-six licks for every life you've taken." His voice was guttural, raw. Like gravel. It sounded as jagged as the knife Zsasz cut into his victim's with. Air seethed through the teeth he was baring, he cocked back his fist one last time. Crimson spilled across the carpeted hallway. "One for good luck."

Harvey Bullock hurried into the hallway in nothing but an a-shirt and heart-print boxers. Pointed directly at the Batman was a hand cannon, revolver, it was too hard to make out from where he was standing but it looked like a Magnum. Releasing the gurgling psycho in his clutches, he stood straight, allowing his leathery cape to blanket his features.

"F-freeze! Don't move!" He lifted the badge he held in his other hand, "Police!"

"Call the real police, Bullock." The Batman said, he edged closer to Bullock who tucked his badge away in his boxers and kept his aim steady on the garbed figure.

"I could shoot you, ya'know. No one'd know the wiser--"

"You won't, too much paperwork to fill out." Batman loomed over Bullock, his blank white eyes peered down into the portly man's shriveled soul. All the reports said that the Batman, if he existed, was that he was a mere man. The thing that stood before him with judgement in his glare wasn't a man. "I know you, Bullock. You're a slob, a townie who conveniently looks the other way when Falcone. Born and raised in Crime Alley looking for a quick buck..."

"You don't know me--"

A fist rammed into Bullock's nose, the man fell to the floor--

He pointed his gun at the Batman, pointing at the bat emblem stitched into his chest--

A leathery black glove wrapped around Bullock's clutched hands, a finger slipping behind the trigger. "You don't work for Falcone, anymore. You work for me. You work for Gotham."

With a twist of the man's wrist, he released the gun, and just as quickly as Batman disarmed him, he discarded the gun. "You're on the outs with Falcone...don't make me regret saving your life tonight, Bullock."

And just as promptly as he came with the gunfire and the madness, he was gone. He left behind a squad of goons and a convicted serial killer with a bashed in skull. A message to all who dared do evil in his city.

strange gospel
A BATMAN STORY

CHAPTER 1: THE MYSTERIOUS DR. STRANGE

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It's a story that's been told and retold over and over again. Little Tommy Elliot and Brucie Wayne playing in the backyard of the Elliot estate. Brucie takes a tumble, falls down a well, and is forever scarred by what awaited in the darkness of the dry caverns. The screeching, the way their leathery wings flapped on the air, their claws tearing at Bruce's tender flesh that fateful November evening.

They swarmed him, they flew in patterns, swirling around the screaming boy while Tommy Elliot ran off screaming as a horde of bats poured from the well's mouth and into the sky. Bruce remembered it as if it were yesterday, his father rushing home from the hospital, keeping him company as the proper authorities tried to fish him out of the well he'd fallen down.

The following weeks he was relatively silent, he became but a shell of the boy he once was. He wouldn't talk, he wouldn't eat, he had trouble sleeping and when he did sleep he awoke in a puddle of his own urine, weeping, hearing the shrill cries of bats. Thomas, Bruce's father, knew his boy was traumatized, and hired the best of the best to help him.

It was December 1st when he first met Doctor Hugo Strange. A psychiatrist who's surname fitted him rather well. He would never forget the bearded man or his thick circular glasses that almost always seemed to catch a glare. Everything about the man frightened Bruce, just the way he stood was intimidating. They would have bi-weekly sessions, Bruce's splintered psyche seemed to be stitched back together by Hugo Strange after a week or so. He began speaking more, the bedwetting halted, and all seemed well.

Hugo Strange eventually "cured" the boy of his trauma, and after three months of therapy, he never saw the boy again. Not until the following December when his parents were gunned down in front of his face. It was during these sessions that he saw something in Bruce's psyche that he'd never seen in anyone's. The complexity of this boy's brain was astonishing, it intrigued Hugo. A puzzle, Hugo described his psyche.

In his notes he says how he approached Bruce as if his mind was a Rubik's cube, but it wasn't until long after he lost contact with Bruce that he saw his mind as more of a Soma cube and he was only looking at but one piece of a whole. No matter how much time has passed since their sessions, Hugo looks back at his notes whenever he can. He watched from afar as the boy grew into a man, as he grew into this farce of a superficial playboy and owner of his father's Enterprise.

Hugo Strange was the only man who knew it was an act. He watched him from across the banquet hall of this Wayne Enterprises Christmas Ball for charity. Schmoozing with women, telling horrible jokes and wearing a fake smile as he shared whispers with Vicki Vale. Hugo stroked his beard, lifting the toothpick that was poked through a cube of cheese to his lips, studying the young man's every expression.

"Hugo Strange!" The fake enthusiasm from Bruce's voice was noted. Hugo's lips curled into a smirk.

"Young Mr. Wayne!" Hugo chuckled, the two men shook hands, patted one another on the shoulder. "You've blossomed into quite the young entrepreneur!"

"Where I come from we call 'em Capitalists!" They shared a laugh. Bruce noticed the man eyeballing him from across the room, he saw the look in his eye, the lust. It wasn't the look of an old doctor looking at his former patient, but an appetite. Passion, even. "I'm glad you came, I've heard you were keeping busy with the police nowadays trying to rid our good city of our...bat problems."

"What kind of doctor would I be if I didn't take some time out for one of my biggest success cases?" Hugo was a man of little humility, Bruce remembered that about him. "I should hang your picture in my office. It would certainly bring in a few people."

"I would hope so!" Bruce guffawed. All the while, Hugo was taking it all in, amazed that this mask of his, this irresponsible socialite was so convincing. "So what is it you do for the police in your free time that helps them try and put that--menace where he belongs?"

"I mostly work on psych profiling what would drive an individual to...don a mask and costume and fight crime." Hugo tilted his head, his eyes narrowing behind those thick lenses of his. "What do you think, young Mr. Wayne? What would drive a man to pull a cowl over his face and bound from one rooftop to the next every night seeking evil-doers?"

Bruce heard the insinuating tone in his voice. He'd long put the pieces together. If anyone was in the position to deduce his secret identity it was Hugo Strange. A man who has delved deep into his psyche, has heard his inner-most thoughts. Someone who knew the connection he had with bats, his tactic of instilling fear in his victims.

"A deeply disturbed individual. Someone who probably doesn't have it all together up here." Bruce tapped at his temple, winking to Hugo.

"On the contrary, young Mr. Wayne. I think that they have it all together...and I think they operate on a complete different level of thought. To a man like that, our thought process and psyches are probably...animalistic by comparison. I believe that's what makes this Batman character the most dangerous on Earth."

"And all this is based on--?"

"Conversations he's held with Captain Gordon. I've recorded a few. Also genuine archival footage of him at work...but with any craze, there are copycats." Bruce's eyes narrowed on that creepy smile of his, "It's easy to differentiate the true Batman in footage...he's honed his body, he moves with a certain finesse."

"I'll have to visit you down at the precinct and peek at what kind of work you're doing. It sounds fascinating."

"Ah, but young Mr. Wayne...that would take the fun out of our little game of Chess we're playing, would it not?" That beaming grin, the way he stood, he almost made Bruce feel like a child again.

"It would, Hugo. It would." Bruce spoke in a monotone, no longer wearing his false smile. There was nothing false in Bruce's words, Hugo was no longer looking at the mask, but the man underneath, he was staring the Batman right in the face without flinching.

"Give my regards to Vicki, I must be going...I feel like I'm so much closer to ringing in the Batman now more than ever." Hugo placed his glass down on a platter a waiter who passed between them was carrying. He threw his scarf over his shoulder, placed a hand to Bruce's shoulder and walked away. Bruce watched closely, he had some words with Carmine Falcone, who was on the other side of the room surrounded by goons. The two shook hands and Strange disappeared near the entrance of the banquet hall.

He knew his secret identity. He'd been the Batman for all of two years and now someone was onto him. He was sure he could keep this going until he was old and gray, but it had been all of two years and now he was in danger of having his cover blown.

"Thank you all for coming and welcome to the Wayne Enterprises Drive for the Needy Banquet!" The crowd gathered in the ballroom erupted into applause as the host took the microphone set above on the second tier of the banquet hall. To host this gathering Bruce tapped Marty "Matches" Malone, Gotham City's most celebrated athlete and shortstop for the Gotham City Gators. It was twelve months ago that Matches found himself fighting drug abuse, facing down the Batman who found him wasting away in a crackhouse. Bruce took him off the streets and got his life back on track afterward. As far as Matches was concerned, he owed his life to both Batman and Bruce Wayne for getting him back on his feet and off of heroin.

"I'd like to take this time to thank the guy who put all this together--Bruce?! Where are ya'?!" Marty scanned the crowd looking for Bruce, after a while the crowd themselves looked amongst themselves for him, but he was long gone. Lucius Fox leaned over, whispering in Marty's ear, something about moving things along, Vicki Vale would wager. The redheaded woman moved through the crowd looking for her date to find he was gone. No doubt he slipped out the back with some blond, clutching her drink tightly in hand, she fumed silently while Marty's voice droned on in the back of her head while she thought of the most vicious things to do to Bruce when she saw him next.

She wouldn't be completely wrong in thinking he left with a blond, because he did. Slipped right out the back with one of the many actress/models that frequented these shindigs, took her to his penthouse that hung over the city and just before things could get heavy, just before they could make it to the bedroom he gets a convenient call on his cell. Urgent business. Requests a rain check. Then out the door and into his secret lair beneath the floor he goes where he suits up in the only thing he's ever comfortable in.

"Another long night, Master Bruce?" Alfred spoke from the counsel of large computer screens. On them were different maps, different points of research, files on criminals and where they may hit next. On the largest screen in the center was Clive Donner's rendition of the timeless tale of A Christmas Carol. Alfred sat with a nice pot of tea at his side on a cart and a warm cup in his hands.

"What did I tell you about watching things down here?"

"But the screen is so much larger and you were supposed to be at the banquet...I didn't think you would mind." Alfred took a sip of his tea as Bruce shed his already unbuttoned shirt onto the floor, Alfred inwardly muttered something about wondering who was going to pick that up.

"I have a woman upstairs--I forget her name--" Bruce scratched his head, it was rare that he drew a blank. It made him feel bad that he was locking lips with some strange woman and barely remembered her name, it made him feel worse that he was thinking about the Penguin and what was probably going down at the Iceberg Lounge while he was doing it.

"Linda Page, Master Bruce." Alfred had seen them entering on the surveillance footage. Seeing as how Alfred was actually the one to send out the invites for Bruce while he was masquerading around as Batman, he knew exactly who she was.

"I need you to drive her home." Bruce arched his neck, fixing his cape, he grasped the cowl and pulled it tight over his face, fitting the eyes into place. Alfred knew he had the cowl on without looking, his voice was deeper, there was almost a growl in his tone. Placing his cup of tea next to the pot, he stood from his seat, paused his movie and began toward the hidden stairwell toward the back of the hidden den, picking up the discarded clothing he shed earlier on the way.

"At once, Master Bruce."

"Alfred."

"Yes, Master Bruce?"

"Hugo Strange knows I'm Batman. Back when I began this mission we agreed that you would deny all knowledge that I was Batman if it ever got out." He paused for a moment, as if he were thinking over what he was about to say. "We're sticking to that plan, understand?"

"Of course, Master Bruce. Would that be all?" Asked Alfred.

"The gifts--"

"Are where you asked me to place them, Master Bruce."

"Thank you, Alfred." Batman wasn't so much thanking him for the gifts, but for the lie that he would follow through with his plan. He knew no matter what he told Alfred, Alfred would stick by his side no matter what. With those words, he turned away, his cape trailing shortly behind him as he slipped into his private elevator that took him down to the subbasement where a second armory and his vehicle was hidden away. It was the perks of owning the land this building was developed on and owning the building itself. He could build a bunch of secret crap and no one would know the wiser. All over the Wayne Towers building there were secret rooms and levels that only he could access.

Through the private tunnels that reach into the bowels of Gotham that was once live and bustling with subway cars now dead and buried with the buildings and roads of old Gotham. Up through the long dead Gotham river channel, where his sleek black sports car roared up the walls and into the city.

While Batman was out knocking around the Penguin and his gang at the Iceberg lounge or foiling Two-Face, Hugo Strange was meeting with a friend. Doctor Randolph Porter, an engineer of sorts. He made drugs, all kinds of drugs, it was something a psychiatrist like Hugo Strange could admire in a man. On the side when he wasn't with patients or trying to psych profile Batman for the police he was with Randolph Porter, giving his input on results that a new drug he was developing garnered. A drug that increased a brain's capability, a drug that could potentially make your mind parallel Batman's.

The men shook hands, then they retreated to Strange's study where they could speak in private.

"This drug...it's venom, Strange." The antsy doctor wiped the sweat from his brow, he seemed jittery, as if he was fearful for what was to come. He reached into his briefcase, handing Hugo a file folder with tears in his eyes. "I'm going to lose my contract. Of all the test subjects--none of their higher brain functions were heightened. The drug is having the opposite effect on almost every subject, Hugo. It's turning them into animals."

"Monsters." Hugo said, not so much correcting the man, but admiring the files he was flipping through. "When did you begin testing on human subjects and how long before I can see these subjects myself?"

"They're not here--we did testing in South America. On prisoners." Rudolph stammered on his words, Hugo knew the deal. They cut a deal with the government, slipped them a couple bucks, injected the drugs into a couple of prisoners no one would miss. The photos were absolutely savage. Men roaring and bashing their heads against walls, a photo of two men fighting, biting and gouging at one another's flesh. Then he saw something of interest.

"I thought you said the drug had the wrong effect on all of the subjects."

"There was one. As you can see--he has no name. I was told he was born in there." He often mulled over the story, a young boy born into a prison and forced to carry out your dead mother's sentence. Most scum, especially the scummiest of scum in Gotham could live with being scum, some of them thrived on the fact...Rudolph had a conscience, though. Albeit, a weak conscience, but it was there to make him feel like shit when the time was right. "No observed effects."

"Are you kidding me? This man is clearly in his right mind, according to these documents--"

"All of that is stuff from before he took the drugs. He's a learned man, whatever he can get his hands on he reads and commits to memory word for word. Those tests and his genius came before we ever dosed him." The doctor said, "Multiple languages, sciences...art, literature--whatever we gave him he absorbed."

"Remarkable. And he has no name?"

"I've heard some refer to him as Bane. But, the drug--"

"Is a failure for what we intended it for, I've read that it stimulates the subjects, though. With their stunted brain activity...it seems they're stronger."

"The government has seen the results! I already tried to repackage this as an enhancement drug! They don't want it unless it makes geniuses, Hugo!" Randolph was desperate, they'd hit a wall and the government was ready to pull funding. Hugo tossed the file aside and stood from his chair, moving toward the window where he peered out at the frosty night.

"I'll pay you to continue your research. In return you give me a few batches of your 'venom.'"

"What could you possibly want with it?"

"I know a few people who may be interested in it." Hugo turned to Randolph, a glare from the moonlight hid his eyes but not his intent. That was clearly painted out by the devious grin he wore, toothy and wide.

The Penguin was foiled and the night before Christmas Eve all was silent throughout Gotham. The Batman pressed his black leathery glove up against the window pane of a small, dark, dank apartment. In the corner of the messy den was a small artificial Christmas tree with no gifts underneath it. Setting the bag of gifts down, he opened the bag and began placing the presents underneath the tree one by one when he heard something stirring in the darkness behind him.

"AAA--" The little girl went to scream before Batman whisked her up and placed a hand to her mouth. He shushed the girl silently then pointed to the presents he was placing underneath the tree. Her name was Margaret. Margaret Benson, her older brother Joseph was a troubled youth, one that Batman spoke to and gave a choice to. Either change his ways or they would meet again. And so he did, he purged the boy of his horrible influences without the help of his absentee parents.

"Are you Batman? Did you come to take my brother away? Because he's good now, honest!"

"I know."

"Margie! Who're you talkin' to?" Joe asked as he made his way up the narrow hallway from his bedroom. He figured it was their mom home from a long night of clubbing and drinking. She loved the streets more than she loved her children. Being with them was a chore, a task, something that drained her during the day. Every night she was out on the streets blowing her alimony and child support on drinks. He stepped into the den to find himself shocked that Batman was looming over his little sister.

"Joseph." Batman said through his teeth, it was the closest thing to a greeting anyone could ever hope for.

"What're you doin' in here?!"

"Presents, presents presents!" Margret laughed as she rifled through the bag, shaking the gifts underneath the tree.

"Margie--get away--" Joe urgently moved toward his sister who was playing in the presents.

"I know your mother isn't around, I brought these because--"

"You don't know anything about me!" Joe pointed at the larger male, seething with anger.

"I know you're doing well now compared to what you were before. That's enough." Batman said, he made his way toward the window, sliding it open and allowing a brisk wind inside the dark den dimly lit by the adjacent hallway. "Don't open them until Christmas. I'll know if you do." With that, Batman was gone, leaping from the fire escape into the veil of snow that cascaded from the sky. A muffled pop was heard followed by the leathery cape beating against the air as he reeled himself with his grappling gun across the open avenue. The irritated Joe looked from the window to the presents underneath the tree that his sister was playing with. He remembered earlier that December he'd told her to not expect any gifts at all, he couldn't help but smile seeing her face lit up the way it was.

"Joey! Look, he brought you some stuff, too!" She held up a box that was wrapped nicely in a bow with a note on it. 'Keep doing well, Joseph', the slip of paper read. Joe's eyes looked over his shoulder at the frost covered window. A young boy filled with such rage at the world. It all started when his eldest step brother was gunned down by a rival gang. Reuben, his older step brother went looking for revenge, joined the local street gang and recruited Joseph with him. With a disregard for Joseph's safety, Reuben had him playing stick-up kid in the worst parts of Gotham. Robbing hookers, pimps and dealers for their cash had it's payout, but one could imagine most of them had pistols and weaponry of their own.

It was one night where he got shot by a dealer while taking flight that he encountered Batman in a back alley, weeping silently behind a dumpster in the pitch black summer night. Batman grabbed his injured arm, lifted him to his feet and placed his thumb to the wound, causing the boy to cry out. It was then he gave him his ultimatum.

Do better for himself, die in these streets or run the risk of meeting him again.

Bandaging his arm and sending him on his way home was how the Batman saved his life. He stopped running the streets and got back into school, his brother Reuben was eventually found a month later buried in an empty lot. He'd only told one person about the story he met Batman, his little sister, to keep her from getting into trouble knowing this damned city.

"Can we open them? Can we?" Margret excitedly bounced up and down, tugging at her brother's shirt.

"Nah...he'd know." Was his reply, "What're you doin' up? Lets get you back into bed, li'l snot."

The sun rose that Christmas Eve on Gotham's snowy rooftops, Captain Gordon and Hugo Strange were both awaken by the same phone call that they were to report to Blackgate Prison as soon as possible. The Captain kissed his daughter on the forehead, left her watching some Christmas parade on TV, hopped in his car and arrived at Blackgate within the hour. The guards there guided him to a room where Hugo Strange was seated across the table from a man with messy pale blond hair, unkempt, in a bright orange jumpsuit.

"What am I here for?" Gordon asked, fixing his glasses as he made his way toward the table. His tone reflected his annoyance, Hugo Strange smirked, offering his hand to Gordon who shook it firmly. The Captain took a good look at the prisoner across the table, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Brown, right? Arthur Brown." The Cluemaster, a man who compulsively left clues for Batman and the authorities to eventually apprehend him in the act. Gordon said if there ever was someone who belonged in Arkham that wasn't in Arkham it was Arthur Brown.

"I need to talk to Batman." Arthur urgently spoke, his facial expression was most ghastly.

"What about, son?"

"I need to talk to Batman! If I don't give him the clues Gotham is going to die!"[/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote][/font]

[Painkiller]

Batman uncensored FTW!

[Mr. E. Liturazy]

"He's not showing any signs of lying." Strange said, relaxed in his chair, he observed Arthur Brown's body language. Every tick, every twitch. Jim Gordon's eyes narrowed behind his lenses at Hugo Strange, skeptical of his deduction that he wasn't lying.

"How could you possibly know whether he's lying or not?"

"I would explain, but between the two of us I'm the doctor of psychology with the high profile clinetele, Captain." Hugo rudely replied with a smirk, "If he were lying I would be able to tell through his body language, facial expressions and what not."

Strange was a lot of things, insulting, insightful...but there was one thing above all: confident in his abilities. When people questioned them was when he found himself reacting most harshly toward those who would consider themselves his peers.

Jim looked to the woman that was behind them being here. Agent Renee Montoya of the FBI. Word had hit the bureau that Cluemaster was rambling in his cell that was of interest since early November, but he wouldn't tell anyone anything unless they were Batman. Hence why Montoya sought out the two leading experts in all things Batman, the psych profiler and Batman's pal Captain Jim Gordon. Despite Gotham City Police trying to bring Batman in, Gordon has had numerous run-ins with Batman and refuses to try to apprehend a man who's doing good for the city.

"Tell me this isn't a trap of some sort." Jim stated coldly.

"If it was, you'd know because you'd be on the inside." Montoya responded.

"Even though you know I'd be against it? I'd be a liability to your whole operation." Gordon's mug slanted slightly, skeptical of this woman and her motives.

"Batman isn't a federal problem, Cap." She smugly brushed the subject aside with a wave of her hand, "Batman is a local act. What could we possibly want with him? We were contacted because our friend Arthur here thinks that Gotham is going to go to hell soon and will only speak to Batman. You heard your shrink, he's telling the truth."

Jim's face wrinkled, he looked to the frightened Arthur, they'd spent a good ten minutes trying to get him to talk but he wouldn't budge in the slightest. The only thing that he would mention was that he had clues to give Batman, that only Batman could put the clues together.

Gordon tightened his jaw, he wasn't ready to gamble Gotham even if these were the ramblings of a mad man. Even if this was some sort of elaborate ruse to capture Batman. He had a daughter sitting at home, probably watching some parade on television...he couldn't risk her.

"I'll get you Batman by tonight."

strange gospel
A BATMAN STORY

CHAPTER 2: NEVER LET YOUR LEFT HAND KNOW

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Down in the hidden bunker beneath his lavish suite lied Bruce Wayne, tending to inflicted wounds and aching muscles from hours before. The sun laid high in the sky of Gotham, it was 10 o'clock on Christmas Eve, and Bruce was inside trying to get warm, trying to fight endure the needle sewing his skin together.

"Hold still, Master Bruce." Alfred monotonously said, trying to pin down his shoulder while tugging at the string attached to the end of the needle.

"Why is there nothing on?" Bruce barely winced, he was numb to most pain, but there were small twinges that surprised him sometimes. He flipped through the channels, unpleased with what was being displayed.

"There's plenty on, Master Bruce. There's nothing that would be of interest to Batman, but there's plenty on." The butler commented, tilting his head back,while looking at his handiwork. Alfred used to be a field medic back for the British Army. He always had something of wit to say, it was always sobering to Bruce, always kept him in line.

"--here at Cobblepot Plaza where the tree will be lit--"

"Hnn..." Bruce groaned, he remembered when he went to go see the lighting with his mother and father as a child. He hadn't been to see it in over a decade now. He flipped the channel.

"--clock is already set and counting down to--"

They were already starting with coverage of the clock counting down to New Years in Gotham Square. Slow news day.

"--is not the father!!--"

The menial drivel that people would put on the air for ratings. The drivel that actually got ratings. It just solidified his fight against crime...his fight against human nature was futile.

"--Wayne is gay, dude."

Bruce sat forward in his chair, this piqued his interest. A faux media show made up of paparazzi who reported rumors and the dirtiest of dirt while sitting around in what appeared to be an editorial office. Bruce's eyes narrowed on the young man who made the claim, his long blond hair was coarse and crude, his facial hair was shaved into what they called a 'soul patch.' Your typical stoner.

"The Bruce Wayne? You can't make a claim like that and not back it up." The man who seemed to be in charge of the operation who was draped over one of the cubical walls, lounging and having a tall coffee.

"He can't, you know." Alfred reiterated, tilting his head as he finished up the stitching.

"Well you know that function he threw last night? He was seen leaving with Linda Page. Paparazzi followed him home, not even ten minutes later Ms. Page is sent packing--so one of our guys asks--" A disgruntled sigh escaped Bruce's lips as they rolled the clip of her leaving the building.

"Oh my..." Alfred looked up from the stitching, seeing as he took her home he was taken aback to notice that from what the footage was showing.

"Long night, Linda?" One of the paparazzo asked her as they snapped photos and filmed her with their digital cameras from across the street. Linda, outraged that Bruce had blown her off, strode across the street--

"So she says--" The stoner chuckled.

"Let the record show that Bruce Wayne is playing for the wrong team." The spiteful betty spat, the cameramen laughed as she turned away. Alfred was stepping from the building just as she was walking back toward the car he had parked on the street. Alfred had no idea, he assumed she went over to get her publicity in or at least assault one of the mosquitoes pestering her.

"I had no idea she said that." Alfred shrugged, then went back to stitching up Bruce's wound.

"You have got to be kidding me." Bruce groaned.

"Well it couldn't have killed you to sleep with the lass."

"You have got to be kidding me." Bruce repeated, clutching his jaw tight whilst speaking through his teeth.

"I'm not, in fact it would probably keep you in some nights instead of parading around trying to do good only to be chased by police." Peeling the rubber gloves he wore from his fingers, he dropped them on the cart beside Bruce and stretched his digits, flexing them back and forth.

"Excuse me, Alfred. But I'm trying to deal with the idea that most of America thinks I'm gay."

"Oh, excuse me, Master Bruce. The thought that you may be homosexual...absolutely chilling. Must be the worst." He sarcastically muttered, Bruce turned his head slightly, looking at Alfred from the corner of his eye. For the most observant and perceptive man in the world he never have thought that his butler, a man he grew up with, the man that was the closest thing to a father to him even before his actual father died was homosexual. The offense he took was unmistakable, though. "It's the 21st Century, Master Bruce."

"I didn't know Alfred..."

"Merry Christmas, Master Bruce." Alfred hid his pain behind a chortle, the irony that the world's greatest detective barely knowing the sexual orientation of the only man he'd spoken to for most of his life wasn't lost to the butler. "Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes, we have a long day ahead of us, I'd assume."

Crime doesn't sleep. Not even on the eve before the celebration of Christ.

In fact, down on the South end of Gotham, tucked away in a nice little diner off of Broadway, crime was having brunch. Carmine Falcone lifted his napkin to his lips, wiping the saucy meat on the edges of his lips and chin. He was interrupted when the men that were standing at his side moved in front of him and a shadowy figure loomed over the table.

"Mista' Falcone. Nice to meet you face t'face, yaknow?" A slightly nasal voice spoke, the bruising and swelling had gone down but the bone was definitely still broken.

"Harvey." Falcone greeted the man with a false smile, with a wave of his hand the goons stepped back into place, "Detective Harvey Bullock. What brings you down to my side of town?"

"You put a hit out on me?" Harvey got straight to the point.

"Have a seat, Detective."

"Answer the question."

"Why would I send a hitter after such an asset? Those men weren't on my payroll. You on the other hand--"

"Not anymore, Falcone." Harvey declared, the portly detective stepped in, placing his fists on the table while leaning in real close. "I ain't do what you wanted me to do for the dough. I did it cuz once upon a time I was scared of yous. But you see this?" Harvey pointed at his busted nose, "The guy who did this? He scares me a whole lot more than you ever could."

"You're a cockroach, Bullock." Carmine laughed, "You hold loyalty to nothing...you're worse than a rodent."

"Not only does he scare me more, Falcone, I actually respect what he does." Harvey stood straight, he scratched at the stubble of his chin, making a rude gesture while doing so. "It took a broken nose and me realizin' that I knew too much to notice I've turned a blind eye to scum like you for way too long. I thought if I took that money you slipped me every now 'n' then and invest it in some charity...or take it 'n' blow it on some neighborhood kids that it'd balance out. It don't."

"It was a pleasure doing business with you, Bullock." Falcone folded his hands, a smug smirk on his face.

"I'm gonna' put you away, Falcone. For a long time."

"Sure you will. We'll bunk, you and I."

"Hell or Blackgate...whichever comes first." Harvey said before turning away, fixing his fedora on his head and slipping his hands away into his trench coat. No one was going to harm him on this day. Not in broad daylight in a public place like this with so many people around. Especially not a cop. "That reminds me--" Harvey spun around with an arched brow, "What's your connection to Hugo Strage?"

"Dr. Strange treats my niece. Nothing more."

The fact that Carmine bothered to answer the question meant that there was in fact more to it. Harvey nodded absentmindedly, turned and made his way from the diner. He tugged his coat shut as the wind howled, picking up flakes of snow, buffering his face with a curtain of flakes.

Night fell and the Batman emerged from the darkness, cutting through the flurry of white. Bruce had just come from seeing Vicki Vale at her flat about a article she published about the event last night and how it went which mentioned the allegations about how he was homosexual. The only thing worse than a scornful woman is two scornful women. The allegations didn't bother him, he could just deny them, but the idiots holding stock in Wayne Enterprises would make a dumb decision to sell based on his sexual orientation. So while it didn't bother him he was still trying to run a business.

The irony that a woman could write an article about a man possibly being homosexual then bed him. He left her apartment knowing he at least proved to one woman in the world that he wasn't, jumped into his car and was back at Wayne Manor, a mansion that he rarely used these days. It was here in the caves beneath the mansion that he started his operations, the same caves that connected to the Elliot Estate's well, the one he fell down.

From there he jetted back to the city in one of his black concept rocket automobiles. There was another gang in the city waiting to be busted, another gun smuggling operation that he was going to take down. His leathery cape beat on the air, reaching the docks just as the cars were pulling up.

He met characters on the job, uncanny characters. Some that believed that their puppets could speak, others made of clay, posed as scarecrows, thought they were superhuman on certain calender dates, but what stepped from the luxury sedan below still somewhat shocked the Batman. A gorilla dressed in a designer suit wrapped his massive frame while his eyes were hidden behind designer lenses. The fur atop his head was slicked back into the mane on the back of his neck, the way the others crowded around him and followed him into the warehouse would suggest that he was their superior.

A Gorilla. For a boss.

This was going to be one hell of a Christmas Eve.

Clutching his jaw tight, he tucked his binoculars into his trusty utility belt and pounced from the rooftop. His footfalls crunched on the nearby buildings, then he took a leap and glided on the frigid winds with his cape, Infiltrating the warehouse, he scaled the crates and into the rafters where he oversaw the transaction from above.

He knocked out the lights, panic arose from the crowd below, they began turning their guns on one another. Batman slipped what looked to be black tanning goggles with slitted lenses going through the middle horizontally. He pressed the rim to his eyes, a perfect fit, activating the night-vision lenses.

He had to stop these hoods from killing one another. With impossible accuracy he broke wrists, snapped trigger fingers and incapacitated a good deal of the criminals with his batarangs below before descending himself. With his metal plated knuckles he laid into the blinded gangsters, breaking noses and ribs as he worked his way through the warehouse. Bruce had trained with the finest killer known to man, David Cain, shortly after the death of his parents. David had long quit being a hitter and assassin, most even said he had quit being a fighter by that point. This wasn't the case.

At this point in his life, David was searching for a disciple. Someone to take his lessons, someone to immortalize him with their memories and eventually take those lessons and pass them on. After witnessing Bruce defend himself on television after being kidnapped by a group of men who were looking to tap into the money that was left for him, It prompted Cain to see the boy for himself, his bone structure and the way he absorbed information and teachings like a sponge made him an ideal candidate.

David taught him to kill.

Bruce took those teachings, turned around and taught himself how to spare life.

That didn't mean he was delicate with what he did.

The men screamed and yelped with every blow that was pinpointed for different points on their body. He broke an elbow, hit a kidney, had men lying in pools of their own vomit, tears and blood. But it was suddenly that a massive fist came from his right and struck him in the side of the head.

"Hhh--!!"

Batman was jarred, the raw power was too much, in trying to keep the idiots from blindly firing into the darkness, in caring too much for hoodlums and ne'erdowells he left himself open to attack from the gorilla in the room--

He tried to regain his composure, but the gorilla was already upon him, grasping his arm and slinging him into a stack of boxes to it's right--

It went to pummel him while he was down--

Batman tossed a small batarang up at the beast in desperation, shutting his eyes tight and shielding himself--

The batarang exploded in a brilliant explosion upon contact, the gorilla reeled back holding it's face. Flashbang batarang came in handy for fighting gorillas, luckily the batarang did it's job of snapping the monster's designer shades before going off. Batman mentally noted this as he slipped from certain doom as the gorilla thrashed around blindly trying to smash him.

Knocking out the remaining two gangsters in his way, Batman made a break for the warehouse's front. Gorilla Boss was hot on his tail, leaping over tall boxes as he did so. The Batman took aim, firing off his grappling gun which hooked onto the rafters above. Pulling the trigger, he reeled himself in just as Gorilla Boss thought he had him in his clutches.

Grasping the steel beam, he turned, tagging Gorilla Boss who was ascending toward Batman on a tall shelf-like structure with bat-darts. When the gargantuan gorilla neared, Batman pulled himself atop the beam, narrowly evading it's clutches. The gorilla wasn't out, though, it grasped onto the beam, swung under and onto the girder. Batman backed away on the thin truss.

It lunged, he stepped inward, between it's massive paws. A punch to the ribs, another hooked punch, one punch planted after the other in quick succession in attempt to wind the gorilla. Then one across the jaw, then an uppercut to it's chin, but Batman's attempt was futile. The gorilla's arms closed around him and it squeezed him tight. The pain was unbearable, he huffed, growled, arching his back in an attempt to keep it from snapping under the gorilla's force. He took his free hands which he made sure weren't caught in the gorilla's grasp and chopped at the gorilla's neck, hitting pressure points which caused it's grip to lighten before it got too tight.

Thrusting his forehead into the gorilla's nose, he hit another point, then gouged at Gorilla Boss's eyes. In much too much pain to continue squeezing the life out of Batman, the gorilla released him to hold it's face and the pain that came from the eye gouging and the darts that Batman tagged him with earlier. They were a sedative, just enough to put out a grown man. Not a gorilla, though.

"RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUU!!" The gorilla roared, leaping from the girder and out the window they were standing near. It crashed through the window and down onto a truck parked outside the docking bay, shortly behind him was Batman who hadn't even caught his breath yet. It tumbled across the roof of the truck, fighting the drugs coursing it's veins, fighting the pain in the back of it's skull.

More darts punctured into his flesh. Batman soared overhead. The darts hissed as they injected the beast who was becoming ever-docile with their sedative liquid. The Batman noticed that it came rushing forward, he cocked back his fist, stepped into the gorilla's space and gave him some convincing to go down with a punch to the throat before slipping under it's arms and behind it's back. It staggered a few steps, then fell flat on it's face.

Batman stood there, staring at the gorilla for a moment. It reminded him of his father. He used to ask Bruce where an 800 pound gorilla sat, then tell Bruce that it sat anywhere it wanted, because who's going to tell something that big that it can't sit there? Bruce remembered it as clear as day, that drive home around the cliffs of Gotham that hung high over the Atlantic. He remembered his answer to his father, too. He remembered telling him that he would tell the gorilla to move and show the gorilla where to sit. It wasn't until Bruce became older that he figured out that the gorilla was figurative, a caricaturization of power. Whether it be the physical power of a man made of clay or the power of a giant corporation.

Even now that he knew what his father meant who only but chuckled heartily when he responded to that saying of his he stood by what he said that cold evening on the way home.

Something caught the corner of his eye when he went to go tie up the crooks inside, make sure there weren't any stragglers, though he sure there weren't. There was a spotlight beaming up from the center of the city, and on the clouds there was a bat symbol painted. Calculating where it appeared to be coming from, he knew exactly who was trying to get his attention. Dropping off the side of the truck, he patched into the payphone through his communicator and called up the local police precinct and reported the arms deal along with the location and count of every hood that was in the place, especially making note of the gorilla on top of the truck.

On a lone rooftop in the heart of the city stood Captain Jim Gordon with a cup of coffee in hand and a bright spotlight next to him pointed at the sky. On the spotlight's glass there was a painted bat that was somewhat messy and inaccurate to that of Batman's. He waited there on the rooftop to police headquarters, waiting for a sign, waiting for anything to come to him.

Sighing, he turned, the other cops--the ones that were supposed to be operating the light--had long abandoned Jim in the cold and headed inside. No one wanted to be out in this cold waiting for something that would most likely never come. Sighing, he turned his eyes skyward, placing the cup of coffee to his lips and taking a long sip.

It was sudden that what looked to be a black bat streaked across the air, crashing into the spotlight. The glass shattered, startling Gordon, prompting him to choke on his coffee.

"Gordon." A voice spoke from behind him, Gordon spun around, startled again by the sudden presence of the Batman behind him. The captain stammered on his words on what he was about to say such as what was wrong with him, how did he sneak up behind him in three inches of snow and what was his problem...but it came out a jumbled mess.

"You're the one with a giant bat symbol pointed into the sky. Criminals don't exactly like what I do, Gordon." Batman responded.

"How else am I supposed to get your attention? I hear that other guy gave his pal a neat supersonic watch...I just get more shit from you." Gordon wiped the coffee he spilled on his coat with his hand, flicking his wrist in an attempt to get the coffee from his fingers. "That number you did on Victor Zsasz? You know, cracking his skull and leaving him a bloody pulp? There's a case pending against you for brutalizing him!"

"Is that what you wanted to talk about?" Batman asked, pulling his grapple gun from his waist and pointing it toward a nearby building.

"No! It isn't! Arthur Brown wants to talk to you--"

"A lot of criminals I put behind bars want to talk to me."

"He claims to know something. Something he can only tell you--he thinks you're the only person who can help him." Gordon explained, "He said Gotham will die. He said that you have to have the clues."

"Blackgate?" Batman asked, his eyes slightly narrowing. He asked to mortalize himself just a bit more. He knew exactly where Arthur Brown was, he also knew that Gordon pulled strings to possibly have Arthur moved for his meeting with Batman. That was unnecessary, though.

"Uh...yeah." Gordon responded.

"We take my car." Said the Batman, and within minutes they were both inside of the cockpit of the sleek black concept car. Gordon was amazed by how the interior panels were so futuristic. It was almost like that Knight Rider car realized, except the car didn't talk back. This thing was tapped into every police frequency in the city, was mintoring calls and on the dashboard there was a phone with a Twitter feed with different searches simultaneously self-updating. Hashtags for Batman, Gotham and Emergency were constantly updating every ten seconds in the Gotham City area. This caped crusader's crusade the Batman was on, it was one of the 21st Century. It made him wonder just how old the man under that cowl was.

"So, it may be a long ride...do you have any music?" Gordon asked, drumming on his knees. He got no response out of Batman who kept his eyes on the road. Gordon's lips curled inward,and he nodded in the silence of the carriage he sat in. "I'm a Kenny Rogers man myself. I met my first wife while a Kenny Rogers song was playing."

"Stop."

"Stop what?"

"Talking."

"I'll stop talking when you stop straining your voice like that to sound like some sort of...thing."

Batman merely looked over at Gordon, his blank eyes narrowing on the Captain.

"Not a Kenny Rogers man then, I take it." Gordon mumbled under his breath, sitting back in his seat. They made it to Blackgate in just under thirty minutes. Gordon led the way, flashing his badge and explaining what was going on. While he made his way through the visitation area Batman could hear the mumbles and gasps, feel the gazes of the masses. Some feared him, some hated him, some loved him, he didn't care how many of them felt about him. The only thing that mattered was the mission.

"You haven't asked if this was some sort of ploy to trap you in here." Gordon looked back at Batman as they made their way up the narrow corridor toward the meeting room.

"You're an honorable man, Gordon." Was his only reply.

"You think I'm above a ploy?"

"I think that if you sense a threat you'd show fear for your daughter's safety." Batman replied as they approached the room, Gordon stopped and turned with a frown on his face.

"But I didn't show fear."

"Not consciously." Batman said as he stepped past Gordon and into the room. On the other side of the room they opened the door, escorting Arthur Brown inside. Arthur was overjoyed, smiling from ear to ear, but there was no contempt in his expression, no hatred of Batman. Only happiness to see him.

"Greetings, Batman!"

"Talk."

"I am talking." Arthur frowned, Batman neared Arthur with his fists clenched.

"The clues, Arthur. The clues you wanted to tell me..."

"Oh. Oh, right!" Arthur tilted his head, trying to scratch his ear with his shoulder. He was thinking about the clues he'd thought up. He cleared his throat, scratched his lower lip on his upper set of teeth and smiled.

"There's a bomb in Gotham." Arthur said simply, "There's a bomb and it will kill dozens of people...! No--! No! It'll kill hundreds, I promise!"

"Where?!" Batman grasped the man by his orange jumpsuit, the guards went to detain Batman only to be calmed by Jim who held his hand up to tell the guards it was okay.

"I--I-I-I-I-I don't know." Stammered the Cluemaster.

"Where's the bomb?!"

"I don't know! I don't know!" Cluemaster yiped, staring into the incarnate of fury itself.

"Where did you put the bomb?!"

"Hints! Hints is all I have! The Maestro of Hints has never held this-this-this-this--this bomb! He has never touched the end of Gotham!" Cluemaster desperately stammered, tears streamed down his eyes. "It's the sovereign who keeps watch over the pendulum...he told me--he told me when the clock strikes twelve one last time, Gotham would end."

"Clock King." Batman grumbled under his voice only to be met by celebratory applause.

"Brilliant. Brilliant deduction." Batman turned his head, he'd recognized the voice before he looked, but he looked anyway. Hugo Strange stood in the doorway, his coat draped over his arm. "Sorry I'm late, I rushed here when I heard we'd made a break in getting Batman here...please, continue, young Mr. Batman."

Batman clenched his jaw, he placed Arthur down but kept his orange jumpsuit in his grip. He tilted the chair backward, the chair horrendously scraped across the floor as he made his way toward the wall where he lifted the Cluemaster with one arm, slamming his chair up against the wall.

"Everything you know, now!"

"That's all I know! That's all I know! He counts the ticks and the tocks! HE COUNTS THE TICKS AND THE TOCKS, BATMAN!!" He wept, Batman's eyes narrowed. "Please...I have...I have a little spoiler out there. She's out there waiting for me...I'm not like the sovereign, I'm not like him. He doesn't have any-any-any-anything out there waiting for him. The ticks and the tocks. The ticks and the tocks are all he has left."

The little spoiler he was talking about was his daughter, Stephanie, who was currently staying with her mother. Batman placed Cluemaster down and turned to Gordon.

"That's all he knows. What time is it?"

"10:46."

"Get me Tockman. Now!" Batman demanded.

"Ah...the Batman, it's so good to finally see you face to face." Strange approached the Batman, looking down upon the slightly shorter man with that familiar sly smirk of his. Bruce had returned home expecting to find people accusing him of being Batman, not being gay, but Strange didn't establish himself as Batman's enemy. Not yet, at least. Knowing was one thing, or at least thinking hew knew, but what he did with that knowledge was what would make him a threat. He looked down at the hand that Hugo offered for a handshake, then up at Hugo.

"Very well..." Hugo cleared his throat, fixing his glasses, "I'm currently working on a psych profile on you for the police. Whether you're a public menace, what possibly wrong with you mentally...hard to do with lack of material. If you would oblige me and--"

"No."

"I insist. It could help...clear your name. Maybe in other ways, as well." Hugo placed a hand on Batman's shoulder. The way he did it, it made Batman feel like he was twelve again, made him feel like he was so small. His scent was familiar, he still wore the same cologne, it triggered memories of them in his study and how scared of Dr. Strange he used to be. They didn't last long, he shook the memories off and removed his hand with a shove of his arm.

"Everyone out." Commanded Batman, "I need the room clear if I'm going to get any information."

Sure enough the room slowly liquidated with the assurance of Jim Gordon who stayed behind. Jim noticed a glance between Batman and Strange, one that he saw as something much more than just animosity. It seemed like there was history, just in the body language, but it wasn't like Jim was on the up and up on stuff like that...most of his insight came from hunches and the air they let off didn't feel right.

"You, too." Batman's rasp voice spoke, turning to Jim with narrow blank white eyes.

"No. You're my responsibility. I need to be here just in case you try something."

"Hh..." Huffed Batman in disappointment. There was no arguing with Jim, he was adamant, it would be a waste of time and his presence would probably do a lot more good. They shoved him through the door, William Tockman, a lanky man, a tattoo of a crown with a clock inside etched on his collar.

"Batman."

"Tell me where you have the bomb, Tockman."

"Why would I do that? I'm locked up here for life...it can't get much worse than this, don't you think?" The Clock King smirked, looking to the black void of a man who stood in the center of the lightly shaded room. The cloak was thrown outward, Batman rushed forth, Tockman's eyes widened with fear as he neared, turning to run away from the approaching Batman. A hand wrapped around the back of his neck and his face was thrust into the wall before him, pinning him there.

"Last chance. Tell me where they are!"

"A--aahh..." He whined, "Aaahh...aaahhahaha..." He began to chuckle, the fear left him and he peeked at the large dark man skulking over him with a grimace. "You'll never find them, Batman. You'll never find them."

"Tell me where they are!!" Batman roared, throwing the man to the ground, he broke his jaw with the first punch, then knocked the filling out of one of his back teeth with a second fist.

"Everyone has to suffer the way I did! Everyone, Batman!" He shrieked, trying to fight back the tears, trying to hold his unhinged jaw to his face, trying to fight this monster of a man off of him. Batman lifted and thrashed him just as Gordon stepped in, grasping Batman and pulling him from the Tockman's flailing frame.

"Aauuuuhh...aauuuhuuh..." Tockman sniffed, wiping the blood from his lip, trying to get to his feet. He staggered into the corner and it was the look of both satisfaction and pleasure at the direness in Batman's tactics that told him that Tockman wasn't going to reveal it. He wanted the world to feel what he felt, feeling helpless, like they were all going to die, like their time was ticking away. A limited time on this earth.

His sister was ill. Terminally ill. He was the only provider, he gave the doctors every dime only to be told that he too was dying and had little time left. Day in and day out he made watches to get by and barely be able to fund the operations and treatment his sister needed only to find out he was dying and soon? He raged, he panicked, who would look after his sister? Who would shell out the cash for what she needed?

He became the Clock King, he robbed banks, built up enough money to keep her alive for years only to be caught by the Batman. In prison he found out that he wasn't dying, that he was actually healthy, that it was a mix-up at the hospital. That he became Clock King for no reason. His sister died shortly after he was incarcerated, Tockman heard that Bruce Wayne tried to provide for her...but without the presence of her older brother, she went in the night. Tockman wept his eyes out the night his sister died, and a week later, he and a number of other prisoners broke out until they were rounded up by Batman once again.

Oh how he hated Batman.

Oh how he was savoring Batman's urgency.

A smile crept across his bleeding lips.

"Tick tock, Batman...when the clock strikes midnight..." [/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote][/font]