Gotham's nightlife had never been quiet. If anything else, you could count on the sound of gunshots. But tonight, oh, tonight, the explosive noises were fireworks. Yellows and reds and blues sparkling through the smog, hope piercing through a veil of heaviness that had plagued the city's good citizens and the bad alikes.
The Joker was gone. There could be no greater cause for celebrations through the grim and the dark.
There had been one video. Had they intended to leave some sort of message for their loved-ones? Maybe their intent had been to warn people off the docks, to stream live and alert the police. Or perhaps, they hadn't thought at all, and it had been instinct that had recorded me and the clown.
On my phone's screen, we were only hunched figures, offensively bright, one yellow, the other purple. Complementary in a way that made my stomach turn. I recalled the way his lips wormed through his pasty face, how the edges were manic and cruel and just twitching enough that one could tell it ought to be a snarl. The Joker on screen was putting his arm around my shoulders, casual, like we had known each other. Like he had done it before. How many people cringed on their first viewing then?
The Joker blathered his usual speech, just loud enough for the phone's camera to pick up some of the words. But one couldn't tell I'd said anything from the noise. It simply showed my head turning. And the next moment, there was only one man in the center of the image.
It was jarring. It was like a cut in editing. One moment, the Joker threatened, the next, it was like he had ceased existing.
Eh, 'like'.
The video's viewcount had already left the tens of millions behind.
#Jokersdead was the number one trending hashtag in the US, and not much further down in other English-speaking countries. The madman had made the uncommon trip abroad, and it had left an impression, to say the least.
#Sainthoodforthesaint, however, was a stupid ass tag that ought to have been forgotten. More recognition was about the opposite of what I wanted at this point in time.
There was even a debate about what to actually call me. I'd never given my name to anyone but Maria and Alvaro, so they only had rumors to go by. The news report on the hostage incident had to have been reposted dozens of times by now. Screenshots of a blur where my face ought to be were being meticulously reconstituted to fit with the Joker video.
On the one hand, I should probably change my face a bit. On the other, I like my face.
Shifting in my seat, I played a bit with the seatbelt. Military grade equipment. Black and shiny and fibrous. You'd get the feeling that it would take laser beams to cut through them.
Then again, I thought as I glanced to my left.
Batman's hunched figure cut a picture worthy of a gothic novel. He seemed almost beast-like, face hidden under his cowl, everything human shoved in the shadow of his ragged cape. No wonder he hid so well here. It was like a gargoyle had come to life.
Relative life, I amended a second later. He had made a sort of non-committing grunt at me. And that had been the most I'd heard or seen from him since roughly thirty minutes ago when I'd asked him for the lift.
"You said anything, Bruce?"
The white lenses narrowed, but didn't shift their focus away from the Batmobile's wheel. Flashing screens lit up in front of his face, images and words scrolling, their reflection on his cowl.
With a sigh, I went back to my ego search. A handful of articles had popped up, seemingly conjured out of thin air by journalists and bloggers with more than appreciable typing speed. Granted, they lacked a little substance, for which they could hardly be blamed. Still, a few titles caught my eyes.
"Eh, listen to this one. 'Should the Wishmaker be considered a hero?'"
I'd admit that I had expected some sort of reaction. Maybe not something as dramatic as the car swerving off the road for a second, but, y'know, something. The batmobile's engines simply hummed with power. Its wheels on the pavement made a sort of slick brushing noise. Tires that fine would be like caressing a lover's skin.
I glanced up from my phone, checking for some landmark or another. But I'd barely even begun to explore Gotham on my own, so, no, no clue if we would arrive soon. It should have concerned me, but I had to say, I was glad for the reprieve. Maybe this wasn't a great idea after all. I turned my head to look out the window, only to remember that there was no such things in here. Just the machinery, bearing down on me.
"Well?" I asked, when nothing else seemed like it might distract me from my nerves. "What's your professional opinion on that one? Should the Miracle Man be considered a hero?"
"No. People shouldn't be talking about you being a hero."
A corner of my mouth twitched. "That so? And just why is that, Sir Dark Knight?"
Batman, without looking in my direction, pulled down some sort of lever above his head, and turned the wheel. "Because you don't want to be one. You might have the power, but you lack the drive. Also, if I were to break down all the reasons why you were unsuitable on an emotional level, we'd be here all week."
"Ouch," I muttered, blushing.
The engine's noise quieted slightly.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of. It's not for everyone. Your powers do not entitle people to your time and effort."
So why do I feel like the scum of the earth when I take time for myself?
I curled up in my seat, resting my head against the batmobile's door. "Yeah, right. With great powers come great responsibilities. If you can, you must. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. Haven't you heard that?"
"I heard you screaming you wanted to be left alone."
My mouth closed. I… What could I say to that? My own words, my own sentiment, thrown back in my face. Yeah, like he was ever gonna forget what I told him.
My stomach turned.
Or what I spat at him.
"I'm sorry for last time," I said, forcing myself to face him. To look him in the eyes, or as good as that. He gave little indication that he heard. Only a nod. Could have meant he forgave me or just that he acknowledge I regretted it. "I… I wanted to hurt you. You didn't deserve any of it. I'm sorry."
The silence returned then, with a vengeance. If before had been awkward, now I was praying for divine inspiration. Anything would be better than-
"Is Dick in Gotham, Bruce?" I'm just all kinds of stupid.
"My partner's location is irrelevant to this situation, Miracle Man."
Taking that as a 'no'. Hopefully, it's not because of me. The Team is pretty young and of course, Dick would be trying for his independence as much as possible.
"So, I'm guessing the manor must feel pretty empty without your boy swinging from the chandeliers. Ever thought about adopting some tough as nails little street rats?"
He managed a noise that was roughly the equivalent of a rock grunting.
"No? How about teen geniuses? Sunny girls? Assassin babies?"
My grin slipped. Ah, shit, I should probably mention Damian to him. Kid's a little shit, but no one deserves that kind of childhood. He would be a toddler at the oldest.
Batman's face looked roughly what it must be like in a meeting stuck between Green Arrow and Green Lantern. Praying for patience. Channeling Alfred, maybe.
"Have you seen Talia recently?"
This time, the batmobile did swerve and caused me to have a minor heart attack as it jumped onto the pavement near the bridge to Arkham.
One could have turned coal into diamonds under Bruce's jaw. "Explain."
"Sheesh. Touchy subject, much?" I prattled. It didn't do much to get my heartbeat to normal. "Well, in another dimension, she used you as the genetic donor for her child. The heir to the Al Ghul. Or Ra's next host body, honestly, I don't know what goes on in that old fucker's mind."
The engines' roaring, for lack of better words, choked and died. With a faint wheeze, the batmobile slowed to a halt.
Batman let go of the wheel entirely and stared. "I… I have a son?"
"Two," I snapped back. Had enough of the blood son agenda from the actual comics, thank you very much. "You might have two sons, Bruce Wayne. I did say it was in another dimension. I am not perfectly sure about this one. Maybe here she's less obsessed."
"I…"
Wow. Wasn't that an experience? Batman, flabbergasted.
"Might," I insisted.
The change operated itself like magic. Bruce's control reaffirmed itself in the span of two heartbeats. Possibly through good compartmentalization. Doubtlessly, he would launch an extensive search as soon as he was back to the cave.
"We've arrived," he said, and I blinked.
The whistling of an air lock opening startled me.
Rain splattered through the opening of the batmobile's doors, and with a roll of my eyes, I conjured up a small forcefield. Cold wind swept over us, flinging Bruce's cape to the side. Rain clouds had begun to gather overhead. The storm would be slow to wash over the city, but by the end of the night, there would not be one dry place for miles.
And against the water's fury, twisted pyres scratching the sky, stood the mad house. The root of Gotham's darkness, the lair of monsters.
Arkham Asylum.
Fear was not an emotion commonly associated with all-powerful beings, but…
Every window seemed an eye through which a deformed beast sought to scrutinize me, to break me down into pieces. The lampposts could not light up enough to dispel the shadows, to keep my mounting apprehension at bay. The whole island had an air to it. An ancient power, a weight, always on the verge of making someone's mind crack.
"I've warned the guards in advance." Batman's voice cut through my morbid thoughts. "Let's go."
His cape whooshed dramatically as he moved forward.
I coughed into my fist. Loudly. And it still didn't hide my laughter, judging by the annoyance rolling off the superhero in waves.
Right. I can pretty much face anything this place would have to offer.
Once we reached the gates (crooked, heavy things half-eaten by rust), a buzzing noise rang through the speakers on the walls and the electronic lock on the gates clicked. Batman's head subtly motioned for the bleeping red dot in a crook in the wall. Ah. Yes. Cameras.
Unrecognizable. And a Sanity Buffer for good measure. You never know.
The inner courtyard…
Just broken pavements and a few parked cars under arches of stone. Muddy sinkholes here and there. Opposite of us, white light shone through heavily reinforced glass doors. I could barely make out a tired looking nurse working at the reception desk.
"I'll take you through security."
I nodded and followed. The clank of metal boomed in the night when the gates closed behind. Well, here would be the starting point.
First improvement… locks.
***
Water dripping from the ceiling landed right in front of us.
I shot Batman an unimpressed look. "Is this where you want me to go?"
My question seemed to startle him, though one could hardly tell with the Bats. He barely twitched. "No," he said, and it was higher than the usual, closer to Bruce than to Batman. "You're not insane. It would be Belle Reve, most likely."
"A guy like me?" I pointed to my average frame. Not a muscle on my arms, not entirely straight posture. "With those kinds of hardened criminals? They'd eat me up for breakfast and complain about the small portion."
His mouth quirked up.
"I hardly think they'd want to mess with you once they learn of your identity."
Or it'll only be a thousand times worse. But I shoved that thought to the back of my mind. The flickering lights through the dark corridor suddenly performed at much better rates, lighting up clean, mold-free, moss-free walls.
At the end of the hallway, two heavily-armed guards jumped and pointed their weapons in our direction. And though I was sure they recognized Batman's costume, they did not relax yet. It might have reassured me, if I didn't keep in mind how often Gotham's villains escaped this place.
"Identify yourselves!"
I groaned for the both of us. That, on the other hand, explained a lot.
"You know who I am, Lyle Bolton. I've already informed Director Young of my visit."
"I could always make them forget us," I grumbled, though not so low as Bat's didn't hear. His head whipped around to send me a glare. "Just saying."
Bolton's partner lowered his weapon. He seemed younger, more trusting. Without prompting, he placed a hand over Bolton's shoulder and urged him to let us through. Despite his misgivings, Bolton relented and activated the walkie-talkie on his hips.
The glass door behind them slid to the side. Batman dragged me through them. As soon as we had gone through, the mechanism reactivated, and our exit was cut off. I didn't begrudge them that. Not where we were now.
There was barely a dozen cells, spaced out a good distance from one another, few ever allowing any communication. A bulky man nodded to us as we walked past his security office. A quick glance showed cameras in every cell, but not a prisoner in every one.
Invisible to cameras.
Batman stopped.
The first cell was still at least ten or so meters away. Far enough to be unheard of, if we spoke quietly.
"Are you going to kill anyone else?"
Calling that a loaded question would be akin to calling the Warworld a spaceship. Slight understatement.
"No." Probably not. They're all imprisoned. That's good enough. Especially with the few additions I've already left around. "I just want to make it more secure. Y'know, help out my own way by being proactive for once. It's not terrible, from what I can see, but it needs the help."
"Despite government mandate, this is still private property, Miracle Man. You are here unprompted, without the owner's uncoerced consent."
"So you haven't found a way to stop me?"
"Besides making a convincing argument?" Batman shot back. "No. Which is why I would like to hear your reasons for coming here. The real ones."
"Well. Getting rid of the Joker" – I did not imagine the tensing of his fists – "got me thinking. He was definitely the worst of the Gotham's villains, but it's not like he was the only one. I am completely certain that he was irredeemable. And regardless, past a certain point, it is cruel to ask people to forgive monsters like these just because they stopped actively tormenting them."
Batman's silence, if possible, got heavier.
"Part of the problem is Arkham. An asylum for the criminally insane might have started as a good idea, but it's decaying. I'm not talking about the walls." I made a sweeping gesture that flash-cleaned every stone wall in the vicinity. And stopped the damn mold from eating through concrete. What the hell, maintenance crew? "I mean, the people. The guards, the therapists, the inmates. It's all starting to rot and there's no stopping it, most timelines I've seen."
"Is this what you base yourself on? Different universes and different people?"
"I've already tweaked the gates. All the ones we've gone through so far."
Suspicion narrowed his eyes. "How?"
"Anyone that is brought here on legitimate charges is put under a geas. They cannot leave until they have served their sentences or been deemed suitable for release by competent and non-malicious authorities."
Batman hummed.
"Any member of personnel that does not have the general public's best interests in mind will get blocked. On the other hand, sincere and well-intentioned workers will be blessed with emotional, mental and physical resilience. Wouldn't want anyone to snap working on the psychos. Or be turned to their side."
Batman turned his head, looking back to the security office. Wow. "Do you expect more than a handful of employees able to work their next shift?"
"And I thought I was cynical."
"In my experience, magic is tricky."
I snorted. "In mine, it's pretty reliable. Hasn't failed me yet."
"Yet," Batman agreed darkly. "What if some wizard like Wotan tried to modify your spells to his benefits?"
"They're absolute. Don't worry about it."
"Nothing is without flaws."
Alright. Ignoring that, I pushed forward and walked up to the first cell. Then frowned.
Frost clung to the bottom of the cell's glass panel. Snowflake motifs occupied the first three inches around the glass, like some Christmas-themed picture frame. I already expected to see Mr. Freeze's blue skin somewhere in there, but no, the patient sitting on the bed had a bulky, muddy frame. No hair. Wide jaw, looking like it was going to melt and drip off on the floor. Definitely male, with a haggard look in his all brown eyes.
"What's his security measures?"
"Lower temperatures to prevent fluid movements. Electrified walls and panel to disrupt any further transformation. Airtight cell. Medicated food, but results seem to vary on those."
Transformation into a fluid form… Wait, is this…
"Clayface?"
"Matt Hagen. His name is Matt Hagen," the correction was said softly. "He is not a monster, Miracle Man. He used to be just like you and I. More me than you, I reckon," he added ruefully.
"What's his story?"
Bruce Wayne looked through the cowl. For a moment, he ceased to be Batman entirely, and no costume could bring it back into him. He… he looked entirely human.
"Matt Hagen was diagnosed with cancer. It was fast-progressing." His voice got a bit of steel back. "He got desperate enough to use a Lazarus Pit. This was the result."
A Lazarus Pit did that? Holy shit, no wonder people don't swarm Ra's bases all the time.
"Are you satisfied?" The sarcasm was unmistakable, this time around. A shame too.
Matt Hagen blinked, seemingly realizing that there was someone to keep him company. His movement was sluggish. I wouldn't be surprised if he started drooling.
Something in my chest squeezed. "No. Not really."
Bruce's mouth opened, but I was faster. Lights flickered black. Matt Hagen groaned, tilting his head back to stare at the defective neons.
Then, the clay slid off him.
I could only describe it as pulling, digging in deep to what he was and snatching every wrong part. It wasn't unlike pulling a table clothes and leaving the silverware standing.
In the middle of the puddle of clay, a blond man on his knees panted heavily. His arms and legs shook as they tried to hold his body up, but years without the effort had left him uneasy. Sweat rolled off his brow and splashed against the back of his hands. With a weak cry, he struggled to push himself into a sitting position.
"B-Batman?" His tongue and lips formed haphazardly. "What's… who- who are you? Why'd, you… how…?"
"No one. Just be a better person. Okay?"
The next occupied cell contained a very restless Killer Croc. Waylon Jones, Batman whispered again. At least, I knew the basics for this one. It didn't take long, and the man's shouts of joy echoed through the hallway long after we had turned the corner. Mostly, I focused on improving any and all security we went through, sometimes giving the people behind bars a push in the right direction.
We were quickly arriving to the end of our tour. I ran through a quick mental list on Batman's rogue gallery.
"Aren't the Riddler and Penguin around?"
"Both have been transferred to Belle Reve after a new psych evaluation. Same with Mr. Freeze, though in his case, it seems the transfer was engineered behind the scenes by some unknown benefactor."
Mr. Freeze. Weird science accident, left him unable to survive above zero temperature, wife on cryogenic support until a cure for her illness can be discovered.
I looked down. This might be my best bet. "You mind giving this to Freeze's wife then?" I offered him a vial with a clear liquid inside.
"Delivery method?" he asked, all-business the second he realized what I had given.
"I don't know what is in it, so, probably injection. Hell, it's possible that just rubbing it on her skin would work." My shrug was very forced. "I've been toying with the idea. Didn't quite have the guts to test it yet. But it's possibly a miracle cure."
Batman held the vial as if it were a grenade about to go off. "You want me to use an untested cure on a comatose woman? Without any knowledge of what it is made of?"
"Well. In that case…" I snapped my fingers, and a reinforced metal suitcase appeared right besides his feet. "There. That should be enough doses for you to reverse-engineer them, if you want to."
Thunder rolled outside as tree branches poked the window's panels. Batman's jaw was working mutely, his grip on the suitcase's handle firm.
"… You're thinking about what you could ask, aren't you?" I sighed, relishing at least his small flinch. "Yeah, I get it. I could have already turned the world on its head. No need to remind me."
"So could Kryptonian technology. So could the Amazons or the Atlanteans."
"I'm sure you can imagine something better."
The white of his lenses gleamed like mirrors, and I saw shadows huddled together, shapes of men and women and children, broken or breaking, I saw him, standing with his boots in a red river. And he said:
"No."
My fists clenched.
"I'll say it again: your powers are no excuse for your exploitation."
I swallowed a heave.
Shit. Okay. Calm down. Almost done, this'll be the last or second to last patient. Afterwards, you can just slip back home and rest assured things will be fine.
"Who's left?"
His annoyance rolled off him at my deflection. "See for yourself," he offered with a small wave of his gauntlet.
Poison Ivy laid on her back on her cot, either meditating or sleeping. Likely the former, for her eyes snapped open and found us quickly. She leaned on her elbows, her red hair spilling on her face. It was nearly the same color as that of her prisoner's uniform. Ill-flattering for her form, but she had that predatory confidence, the certitude that she was the stronger one despite the guards and the collar.
"Visitors? In my humble abode?" she said, her voice teasing.
My eyes spied hints of violet on her bedside table. "They left her with a plant?"
Bruce's stone face said a lot. "Her psychiatrists are convinced it is essential to her recovery. She has been fitted with a collar."
Stretching, she rolled over her bed and stood up with practiced grace. She'd have give a model a run for their money. Her hips swayed in what was obviously meant to be seducing. Her mild smile brimmed with lustful promises.
I could not raise my eyebrows any higher than they already were. No, not even with the divine powers at my disposal. I was that unmoved by Poison Ivy's strut. Not that she seemed convinced.
"Who is this, Batman? Another student of yours?" She gave me an amused look, her pale green hand stroking the glass on level with my face. "A bit old for your taste, isn't he?"
"Considering you've kissed Robin before, I would thread carefully, Ivy."
Oh wow, gonna be sick now.
"Brat seemed to enjoy it. Better than that gunfire."
Okay, this was slipping out of my control. "You used your plants in the world-wide terrorist attack planned by the Injustice League, correct? How many did you kill?"
It had been in the papers. Some time before my arrival, the Injustice League had unleashed monstrous killer plants on Gotham, Metropolis, Star City, Paris and Taipei. The damage had been contained to a handful of streets and buildings. But in a big city, that meant less than you'd hoped.
"You weren't coerced by the Joker or whoever else was on that team, were you?"
Her mouth twisted in disdain. "Please, as if any of them had the power to order me around," she drawled, tossing her hair over her shoulders. "Of course, a man would presume that I lacked the will to dedicate myself to such a cause. If our demands had been met, I would have had the funds to truly begin cleansing this world of mankind's taint. I would have given plants their rightful place in this world."
"Right. Of course. Plants. Rulers of the world. Everyone bows to the palm trees."
I sensed Batman tense before the fury had time to appear on Ivy's face.
"Don't you dare mock my children!" she hissed.
"Miracle Man," Batman barked, suddenly aware that my flat tone had not been sarcasm.
Perhaps it would have worked if I had been one of his friends, one of his teammates. It was the voice of a commander calling back a zealous soldier. But I had never been his.
Ivy folded in half, holding herself against the glass pitifully. "What… what did you do to me?"
She met my gaze through the glass. She saw her pale reflection. And her pupils shrunk from wild panic. With a desperate whirl, Ivy lunged for her potted flower, picking it in frantically shaking hands.
"Talk to me, child." Two petals fell from Ivy's unconscious shaking. "Talk to me! No, no, no! Talk to me!"
The pot slipped. Her whole body froze. She appeared the same as the gargoyles on the roof. Watching. Watching as her 'child' fell, and the pot shattered with a crash like thunder. Ivy dropped to her knees with a shout of horror. She dug at the soil, pulling it together and breathing life on the uprooted flower. Fresh tears watered the ground, but the plant remained inert. Her cry turned into a bloodcurdling scream. Mothers made that sort of sound, when horror fell down on their offspring.
I can't do this, I thought. I shouldn't do this. Right here and there, Ivy's desperate pleas seemed to melt, her skin coppery brown, her locks black as ink. I imagined the dying flower as if it were a child. Alvaro. 'Please,' she begged the plant. The child. She couldn't have been the one that-
Attacked Gotham. Attacked Alvaro's home. It could have been him on the street.
Ivy had sneered. Unmoved by the families she'd broken. And I willed it before I could realize why. Ivy's eyes widened in shock. Her hands flew to her ears, her relief carved into every inch of her body. She reached forward. She saw the peachy shade of her skin. Felt, under the collar's restraints, her lack of power.
"Is that your mercy?!" she spat, face stricken by tear tracks. "To only let me hear them suffer?! You monster!"
I might have forgotten to breath. Someone's voice called out to me, but it was too muffled by the pulsing heartbeat throbbing in my ears.
Ivy's face lost all colors as she curled up on herself.
"That was victims of your first attack, years ago. How many times have you done it since? Do you think you made a difference?"
A broken laugh arose from her. "This is nothing," she hissed, breath itching, muscles tense. "This… this is nothing… they deserved it…"
For a second, my fist shook against the glass panel. Pain spread in my jaw, so tightly clenched were my teeth. Nothing?!
Powerful arms lifted me off the ground and pulled me away from the glass. "Enough. We're done," Batman's tone brokered no argument.
I did not fight him. My glare lingered on Poison Ivy – pardon, Pamela Isley. Guess she had to rethink her name now, huh? No more poisonous kiss or mind control pheromones. No more wines strangling people to death! What. A. Shame.
Footsteps rounded up around the corner. A few guards' voice reached us, distorted by radio transmission. "Batman!" That one was clear as day. "What's going on?"
I am not dealing with this tonight, I thought, warping space around us and landing us in the courtyard.
If the sudden change in our environment startled Bruce at all, he did not let it show. "You did not have that right."
"She's an unrepentant terrorist."
With the flick of a finger, Batman's gauntlet lit up. Pale blue rays shot up a foot and displayed pictures of the rogues. Next to each, a raplist as long as his arm. "Matt Hagen and Waylon Jones both have heavy criminal pasts as well. What made her different?"
"Her powers did not make her suffer."
There was a slight hesitation in Batman's movement. A fraction of a second during which every other puzzle piece clicked into place, and suddenly, he did see the whole picture.
"What right, Batman? I never claimed a 'right' to do this. At this point, this feels more like… like a duty."
Batman's voice was unnaturally flat. "A duty."
"Yes. I feel a duty to protect people when I can. Letting dangerous villains keep the powers they have repeatedly and remorselessly abused to harm others is not protecting them."
"And if they don't need powers to do harm?"
He was thinking about the Joker. He had to be. He had to be thinking that if I could not stop someone from doing harm, then I was going to make them disappear.
But I could just cripple them. Or mess with their minds. Leave them paralyzed. I could always stop someone if they were in front of me. It was never going to be in question.
I'd depowered Ivy because the bitch used her powers to launch terrorists attacks.
"Is this the image you want for yourself?" Bruce closed in the distance, one hand on my shoulder. His voice was gentler than before. "You don't regret the Joker. You said that people deserved to live free of his shadow. They are celebrating right now. No one is going to argue that Joker didn't ask for it. That he hasn't always been courting death, to see if he could get someone to tarnish their souls with his blood."
"If this is about 'letting the Joker win'," I quoted, sarcasm dense enough to shield someone from gunfire, "then I'm at peace with that. He won 'The Game' and lots of people will sleep soundly tonight. Me included. I certainly don't feel tarnished and I doubt anyone will begrudge me this one."
"No, but they will wonder who is next."
A sudden shudder ran down my spine. Phantom pain tickled my stomach. Rain hit the windows, pelting the glass with droplets the size of my thumb. I wasn't cold. I wasn't in pain.
"There doesn't have to be a 'next' person." – Liar, Joker was the next one. – "It's a case-by-case basis. And the Joker is certainly extraordinary circumstances."
"Even though you could have easily tied him up? Prevented him from threatening anyone with barely a blink of an eye?" I could have done anything to Batman before he could even finish blinking. But at that very moment, I took a step back. "He did not even come close to challenging your powers. What exactly made it 'extraordinary' for you?"
He was threatening people. He would have killed your son. He was the stupidest, most annoying, plot-device antagonist I had had to sit through whenever I felt like reading a Batman story. Always escaping for no other reason that he was popular as a villain. Because every time I had to read him I thought a little less of you.
… that couldn't be it.
"Joker and Ivy were both part of the Injustice League."
It was as much an accusation as a question.
"I didn't kill Ivy," I told him – and myself – "I made her human. Reminded her what she was before she went mad with power. When she decided the only things that deserved empathy were non-sentient beings. I just took away her ability to harm others. Same as you did when you imprisoned her."
"She was not a threat," he ground out. "She was already neutralized."
My mind flashed back to the articles I'd read in the car. To the references. To the twisted timeline of Joker's ascension as the Clown Prince of Crime, right up until a few hours ago. In roughly, what? Ten years? Yeah, ten years, the Arkham's crowd had escaped or been freed at least a dozen times, each. And that was a conservative estimate. It was an odd day in Gotham when at least one of Batman's prime rogue gallery wasn't walking free in the shadows.
I glanced back to Ivy's cell, where her hysterical cries had faded into broken sobs.
"They always are," I spat, "right until the moment they aren't. And that's when people die."
He made no movement to catch me when I turned around. But, after three steps, I heard him say: "What was the phrase again? 'Absolute power corrupts absolutely'?"
My foot caught up on some rock in the pavement. "Give my regards to Alfred!"
***
'Bet the Joker didn't expect to meet the bigger fish tonight! #WhogotthelastlaughJoker?'
Trending.
'Who even was that guy? Is he some superhero out of costume? #WhogotthelastlaughJoker?'
"Don't even get me started on that," I said with a sigh, running a hand through my hair. "Besides, the League would definitely never take me in after I publicly murdered the clown."
Saying it out loud didn't feel as good as I had hoped. Shit. I scrolled past a few more posts.
'I can't even describe the relief I felt at the sight of this video. I've been fearing for my husband's life ever since Joker escaped Arkham.'
'Finally, someone that realized we can't let freaks get off with a slap on the wrist under the pretext that they're ill. Mad dogs should be put down! #RealjusticeinGotham'
New tag. Not one I was sure I liked.
'I hope he goes after Zsasz. The mad fuck slit my uncle's throat last month. #RealjusticeinGotham'
My fingers turned numb. They were going to start asking me for hits.
'Am… Am I the only one uncomfortable watching this? He made someone, just, vanish. #WTFvigilantes?'
"Not a vigilante, or a hero," Monster "or a villain." But clearly, this was not a productive way to get my mind off this splendid evening. So I just shoved my phone in my pockets.
A glance upward showed my apartment just down the street. Aaaaand a crowd, blocking the street, holding banners. So far, no pitchfork in sight. Might have been better that way. If even one fan asked me to marry them, I would… probably go invisible and intangible and entirely utterly uninteresting just to get them to leave. From this distance though, I could make out some rumbling sound, repeating over and over again.
"Are they chanting?" I asked, dread creeping on me.
"ainthood for-"
Greater Hearing.
"-the saint! Sainthood for the saint! Sainthood for the saint!"
"Oh Hell no."
I glared at the crowd. There were more beer bottles lying around than usual. The vibration reverberating through the sidewalk seemed to be from hundreds, if not thousands of feet striking it on a march-like beat. And someone had brought a bunch of disco balls to make a light show. Seriously? There were homeless people trying to sleep in Crime Alley! Minimum wage workers that did not need their sleeping schedule shortened!
Celebrate at your own places. Don't flood my neighborhood.
I didn't stay long enough for the sudden silence to feel eerie. I jumped right through to the lobby. The few sleepers didn't stir. I hopped over a sleeping woman, repairing her rags and adding some thickness to her socks in the form of wools and a couple of fifties. Comfortable bedding popped into existence to grant them better sleep.
"Creator!"
Nobody's hearing that! I ordered.
One of my helpers was running up to me, her plain clothing hiding little of her silver skin or her fiery mane.
I blinked. Elves didn't usually address me directly. As part of their religion, priests grew up learning to never request anything of anyone else. They were always so excited to tell me they had made the rank of wandering priest without any hands-out it kinda made me laugh every time. They made it a point of honor to only ever give instead of take.
They might be my favorites, but don't tell the other races that. I'd never hear the end of it.
"What is it, Litanadiance?"
The she-elf squirmed a little, biting her plump lips with an exaggerated concern typical of her people. Red speckled her cheeks and spread a little wider.
"Litanadiance? There's no need to be scared."
Finally, she trusted out her hands, palms up, and presented a small golden object. A bell. Its sides had been delicately carved to represent a chorus of elves and gnomes tending to wounded humans and animals. And one figure, taller, grander than all others, looked over their work from the shadow of a hood. The only hint to their appearance were a pair of glasses.
"It is a relic I have been crafting in my spare time, Creator. Its ringing cast a soothing spell that lessens the pain of those that hear its chime. Would you allow me the right to place it near the door? There are so many believers gathered here, so much suffering in one place… I thought, perhaps…"
Warmth bloomed inside my chest.
"You have the right." I gently placed a hand on her shoulder, smiling. "You, and every other priest that left your land for my miserable home… You're… you're all good people, you know? I couldn't be prouder."
The silvery woman thanked me profusely, bowing till her gold and red hair spilled over the floor. Instead of soiling itself with dirt and grim, it left a sparkling clean spot on the tiles. Elven hair made for great cleaning implements.
"Here." I lifted her chin and traced a line on her cheek. Right under my thumb, her silvery skin darkened to a soft golden one. "This mark is a sign of pride from me. Bear it modestly, but let none of your kind ever deny your charitable soul… daughter."
With as much dignity as she could, she dabbed her eyes and sniffed. "Blessed be thy name, Creator."
Monster.
I plastered a smile on my face and bid her good night. Stupid intrusive thoughts.
Well, if you're so sure, why don't you ask the elves? Won't they agree with you? It was only right to make sure people would be protected. Who cares if she took it like you mutilated her?
The door to my apartment materialized in front of me. "I created them. It wouldn't be fair of me to ask anyway. Who would want to tell off their god over their follies?" And they have my moral standards by default.
The second the door closed behind me, I let my shoulders sag and just… stopped. The room readjusted itself around me, pulling the living room towards me. One particularly eager couch zipped to behind me, and snagged me right behind the knees. With a repressed yelp, I fell onto plush cushions that sank just the right depth.
"It's done already. No use crying over spilled milk." I massaged my forehead. "What a shit day."
Something clanked against the table. Intrigued, I looked through my fingers.
A bottle of whiskey stared back. Hadn't asked for that. But, well, that wasn't a bad idea, per say. I popped the cap and sniffed. Hot, spicy fragrance cleared my nose and throat in one go. Alright. That was the good stuff.
I hadn't been drunk in months. Even before I'd gotten stuck here, it had been a long time since I had had a reason to want a drink.
Glasses materialized on the table.
"Might as well," I said, pouring myself a shot.
I tilted my head back and let the liquid fire burn down my throat. Shudders racked me for a few seconds, before I let go of my breath. The warmth hadn't receded yet, it was working its way into my stomach.
The bottle of whiskey waited, completely full. I had the strangest impression that the captain on the label was vaguely smug.
Monster.
I downed my second shot.
***
"Maria, I don't wanna stay anymore."
I knocked.
"You were right. Again." I knocked again. "Shi- shoot, I don't. I did another stupid thing."
I knocked.
"It's Gotham. It's a horrible place and everyone's heard of me. There's going to be a ton of villains coming for me, us."
It's the middle of the night. Alf will be asleep. Maria's shift starts at six. I shouldn't be he-
The door swung open.
My favorite brat darted around his mom's legs and hugged my waist. "Jesús!"
"Hey, brat," I said. "Woke youuu up, huh?"
Chestnut brown eyes looked up at me with concern. "Jesús? Are you okay?"
"Mi ángel," Maria tangled her fingers in his black locks, "go back to bed."
A pout threatened to break out. "But he-"
"He will still be here when you wake up. Shoo."
A formidable Mom glare managed to send him away with minimal fuss. I immediately understood when she turned it on me, no hint of playfulness in it.
"You stink of bars, Maxime."
"T'was just a few sips from a bottle," I muttered, not quite as steady as I should be. "I just felt like drinking a little tonight. And the captain was daring me."
She designated her sofa. "Sit."
I sat.
"Why?"
Simple, direct, to the point.
"I dunno what I'm doing, Maria. S'like 'm a drunk elephant in a chinese shop."
"'Like' a drunk," she scoffed. "And you didn't answer my question."
"You know. The whole eastern coast knows I disintegrated the Joker. I could have picked any solution I wanted, but I just…" I made a meaningless gesture. "poof. I poofed him. And then I went around Arkham playing God 'cause everyone's calling me it these days, so why not? Coulda just poofed it all, but noooo, Batsie was there."
Her lips thinned. "Corazòn," she whispered.
"It wasn't bad, just kinda okay? Nothing spe, speshial. 'Cept Ivy. Plant Bitch." Maria sent me a warning look. "A b-birch. Yeah, she's a plant birch. And I remembered the attack on Gotham last month, and I just… I thought, what if Alf had been there? He's always doing whatever he likes. He could have been whatevering there. Could have been him that died." I swallowed a heave. "And she never gave a shit so I… I… "
I was suddenly given a very good view of Maria's shoulder, as her perfume of chocolate and hairspray hit me. "Shhh, Corazòn, you don't need to say anything. It's fine."
It wasn't. But every explanation started with 'I wanted' and 'I only tried to' and the words would flee, and the air would be stuck in my throat, and I'd hear it, over and over again.
"Maria… Maria, I'm sorry, it's too much, I- I'm- I want to... " To leave and never come back.
"You" – she grabbed the sides of my head with both hands – "are not staying in this godforsaken city even one more day, Maxime." Her eyes shone with frightful intensity. She would have taken on Batman without a second's hesitation if he had dared showed up here. "And we are coming with you."
That must have been what it felt like to have your worst desires dangle in front of your nose. "I… I can't ask that of you. Alf's gotta go to school. His friends. Heck, your job."
"You're not asking anything. My job is terrible and Alvaro makes friends like seagulls make guano. But you're his best one and he loves you. This is my decision as the only sensible adult in this house. You don't get a vote, Mister. Prepare a suitcase and a car. We'll leave after breakfast."
This is happening. This is actually happening. I pinched the back of my hand, because, how was this happening? I'd been dreaming of doing this, and I was still waiting for the guilt to crash on top of me like an obese whale, but… Nope. My chest felt light. So, so light.
There are literally people sleeping on your doorstep hoping for- There are people everywhere in need of help. And just because I don't see them doesn't mean they don't exist!
"Oooh, you gotta make it one of those super big house car, Jesús! With beds and a table and a TV!"
"Little imps that leave their bed to eavesdrop on adults don't get desserts, Alvaro Martinez."
"No, Mama, please! I didn't hear nothing! I was getting some water, promise!"
I couldn't hold it in. I snickered, plastering a hand over my mouth, to no avail. Poor Alavaro came running to me, pleading that, no, really, he hadn't been eavesdropping. He was just worried a little. And curious. But mostly worried, and that's what mattered the most!
"Mariaaaa, s'my fault I woke him up. Can't fall asleep so easy. Don't punish him 'cause of me."
She gave us dubious looks, but our combined cuteness wore her defenses down, because she sighed and pointed straight at Alf's bedroom. "Mi pequeño diablo, straight to bed! You'll be packing your things tomorrow."
"Could do it all tomorrow, Miss Maria. Don't. Just a finger snap."
That earned me a wooden spoon whack. Where did she even-? "You let me worry about what's useful. Growing boys need chores and sleep. You especially. Now, you rest your head. Tomorrow, we're leaving this shithole behind."
Her hand brushed my hair lightly, just enough to let warmth linger, and I laid down with a grin. Tomorrow. A new day. A new place, with just those two. They deserved the fucking world on a platter. And hell, I could give it to them. I would.
Extraordinary fortune. Continued good health. Fulfilling futures. Karmic protection.
I closed my eyes and passed out immediately.