GOTHAM X part 3 black centipede creeping dawn CREEPING+DAWN2+copy.jpg theblackcentipede.blogspot.com

ACE CHEMICALS STORAGE FACILITY
12:45 a.m.


Two-Face guided the truck off the main road onto a rutted drive, through a gap in a rusted old chain link fence, and on up to a huge, dark building which waited in the middle of a weed-choked lot. Two cars were parked in front of the building.

Two-Face parked between the cars. He motioned with his gun. "Get out, please, Agent," he said. He was being Harvey again, civil and polite. "Please don't try to run away. We will shoot you if you do." She had no doubt that he would and could. She stepped out of the truck and stood beside it, weighing her options. As of right now, they were lighter than helium.

Dent moved around to the back of the truck, banging on the door, keeping Scully in sight. "Come on, jerk-offs," he growled in his "bad" voice. "Get that piece of shit out of there and let's get moving."

Scully shuddered. Not just because it was cold, though it was. She didn't know what she was about to be dropped into the middle of, and she didn't like the feeling one bit.

Dent's men hauled the stretcher containing the Riddler out of the truck and carried it toward the front of the old building. Scully winced as she watched them jostle it around carelessly. They stopped in front of a rusted iron door. The whole front of the place was shabby, weather-beaten and dingy. But, incongruously, there was a shiny new intercom speaker set into the wall next to the door. Two-Face thumbed a button.

"Yes?" came a chillingly familiar voice, one Scully had hoped never to hear again. "Is that the pizza I ordered? It took you more than 30 minutes, I should get a discount."

"Fuck you," said "bad" Harvey. "We've got your merchandise. Let us drop it off and get the hell out of here."

"Oh, Harvey, it's you. And you. Nice to have you both. You have Mr. Nigma?"

"Yes, yes."

"And the beautiful, mysterious Agent Scully? You didn't forget her, I hope."

"We have everything we promised." This time it was "good" Harvey speaking. Spending time around this guy could make your head spin. He was worse than that shape-shifting character she and Mulder had busted a couple years ago.

"Very good. You're a couple of really reliable guys, Harv. That's why I luv ya so much. Though I'm partial to the one on the left."

The door buzzed and Two-Face pushed it open. "C'mon," he muttered, motioning to Scully and the stretcher-bearing goons. "Let's get this over with."

They walked down a dark corridor until they came to another metal door. This one was shiny and looked brand new. Two-Face swore and punched another button.

"Yes? Who is it?" came the Joker's voice from another small speaker.

"God damn it, open the door!"

"Oh, Harvey. How silly of me. Come in, come in." The second door buzzed and Two-Face opened it, gesturing for Scully and the two thugs to precede him through.

Scully found herself in a large, clean, well-lighted room. The walls were lined with scientific equipment, the purpose of which Scully couldn't even guess at. From somewhere beyond the walls she could hear the humming of a transformer. In the middle of the room, arms spread wide, looking even more bizarre than usual in a white lab coat, stood the Joker.

"Welcome to my house," he said, the macabre grin plastered across his face. "Enter freely and of your own will. Or, in your case, Agent Scully, at the point of a gun."


"How much did this thing cost?" Mulder asked. He was in the passenger seat next to Batman, looking around at the array of equipment visible in the -- "cockpit" was the best word-- of the Batmobile.

"I don't know," Batman said flatly, steering the car along a dark downtown street. "I've added to it over the years. I don't keep financial records on it."

"What do you do at tax time?" Mulder asked.

Batman glanced over at him coldly.

"Don't worry," Mulder said. "I'm FBI, not IRS. I don't like those guys any better than anyone else does. But remember what happened to Al Capone."

Batman was silent, apparently concentrating on his driving. The sound of the engine was like the muffled roar of a jet. Mulder wondered how many miles to the gallon it got. Or gallons to the mile. When Batman spoke again, abruptly, Mulder was startled.

"Who is the 'Cancer Man?'"

Mulder looked at him. "You know about him?"

"I've... heard him mentioned. Who is he?"

Mulder sighed. "That's a good question. I don't know his name. I don't know who he works for. I do know that he's an evil son of a bitch and that he's into some really sick stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

"I shouldn't discuss it with you."

"And you always do just as you're told, Agent Mulder?"

"Hm. Okay, you got me there. And, hell, if I can't trust an anonymous man in a bat costume, who CAN I trust? Okay, this is what I know:

"Something very big and very weird is going on. I don't want to sound crazy..." He glanced over at his companion, looked the man up and down, gazed around the interior of the vehicle. "Hell, sitting here with you, it seems a little mundane. Okay, I believe that our planet is in imminent danger of invasion by... colonists of some kind, from somewhere..." He waved a hand in the direction of the sky. "...out there. Okay? You with me so far?"

"Go on."

"This 'Cancer Man' is a spook of some kind. CIA, DIA, DOD, WTF... I don't know. He's working with a group-- I don't know who they are exactly, but they have ties to the government-- they're involved in this somehow. My theory is that they want to facilitate this invasion, hopefully earn the colonists' gratitude, and save their own asses.

"Sometimes it seems like this Cancer Man is working with them. Sometimes he seems to be working against them. I don't know. I've been dealing with this shit for five or six years now, and sometimes I don't know which end is up."

Batman said nothing. Just continued to drive. They were passing through the outskirts of Gotham now, the buildings were getting smaller and fewer.

"Well," said Mulder. "That's what I know. You want to say anything? Tell me how crazy I am? Tell me I need to get a grip? Come on!

Give me something to work with. Tell me I'm nuts so I can come back with a remark about how at least I'm not the one dressed up like a flying rodent!"

"Bats aren't rodents. They were reclassified as primates."

"I see. I'm familiar with the silent treatment, too. But listen to me. Don't you believe," he said earnestly, "don't you think it's even possible that this planet has been visited by beings from other worlds, with abilities beyond what we have?"

Batman was silent for a moment. "No," he said at last. "No, I don't." His lips twitched a bit. Was he smiling? "But I have a friend who does. You ought to talk with him sometime. He lives in Metropolis."

Mulder gaped at him. "That was a joke! You made a joke!"

"I never joke."

Mulder sat back in his seat and kept quiet for a while. Then he said, "Can I ask you a personal question?"

"As long as you don't count on an answer."

"Fair enough. I'm talking generalities, anyhow. You don't need to be specific." He shifted uneasily. "Why do you do it?"

Batman was silent. Mulder went on, "I mean, why do you..."

"I know what you mean. Sometimes I don't know the answer myself.

"But something... bad happened to me, a long time ago. I never forgot it, never let go of it. I let it shape my thinking, my philosophy... my entire life. Sometimes it seems like I've been... chasing that demon that traumatized me when I was... younger. Trying to get rid of it. Or to understand it. Or to just do SOMETHING with it. Does that make sense to you?"

Mulder thought for a moment-- about his sister, about his career in the Bureau, about all the things that had happened to him over the past few years. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, it makes sense. Believe it or not, my story's similar... Wow. I can't believe it. I'm bonding with the Batman!"

Batman glanced over at Mulder. "I'm not going to hug you," he said dryly.

Mulder snapped his fingers. "Ha! There! You did it again!"

Batman pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator, gunning the engine to drown out further conversation.


The Joker had Scully tied in a chair. He had instructed Two-Face's men to remove Eddie Nigma from the stretcher and place him in what looked like a curved glass coffin. Scully had seen something similar not too long before. In fact, she had been inside one.

"Well, well," he said, clapping his hands together. "We'll be ready to get started real soon now."
"Okay clown," growled Two-Face. "Can we get out of here now?"

"Oh, I don't think so, Harvey." The Joker produced a small automatic from beneath his lab coast and pointed it at him. Two-Face had stuck his own gun in his belt and couldn't get at it before the Joker would have a chance to fire.

"What the hell is this, clown?"

"Just something I've always wanted to try. Your coin, Harv. Toss it here."

Harvey grumbled but removed the coin from his pocket and tossed it to the Joker. The clown caught it deftly and held it up to the light, admiring it. "Pretty, pretty," he said. "Okay, here goes." He flipped it high into the air and caught it in the palm of his hand, squeezing his fingers tightly over it.

"Which side, Harvey? Good or bad? Do I kill you or let you walk out? I can see why you get off on this! It's like playing the lottery!" He opened his palm and looked at it. "Oh my. The scarred side. See?" He held the coin up. Sure enough, the damaged face was uppermost. The Joker sighed. "I guess that means..." He leveled the automatic at Two-Face and squeezed the trigger. A little cloth flag popped out of the barrel, the word "BANG!" emblazoned on it.

"... I let you live! The worst possible thing I could inflict upon society. Here ya go" he tossed the coin back to Two-Face who grabbed it out of the air. "Scat. Be on your way. I want you out of here in TWO shakes of a lamb's tail. Hahahahahahah!"

"Goddamn freak," muttered Dent. He and his henchmen left the room.

The Joker turned his attention to Scully. "Those boys will eventually come to a bad end, don't you think? They oughtta be locked up. Problem is, how do you put them in solitary confinement? Hahahahaha!"

Scully was frightened but forced her voice to remain calm. "So," she said as nonchalantly as she could, "What have you got going on in here? I thought you were just a garden-variety psycho. When did you branch out into the mad scientist business?"

"Oh, I was a mad scientist long before I became a thug. I got tired of it. But when my government calls, I must respond. For God and country and all that. Not to mention five million bucks and a ticket out of Arkham!"

"Your government?"

"Well... Somebody's government. Not the duly elected one. The one that works under the surface. Yhe REAL power. You know about that one, don't you Dana?" He reached out and touched her cheek. She turned her head.

"Keep your hands off me," she said through gritted teeth.

The Joker sighed. "Don't worry, honey. I'm not after your virtue. Assuming you have any. I just want to..."

He was interrupted by a loud voice from the other side of the room. "Joker! What is going on here?"

Scully and the Joker both looked over at the source of the voice. Scully's heart sank. It was him.

The Cancer Man.

The Joker clapped his hands. "My benefactor! How nice to see you!"

"Never mind all that," said the other man, advancing into the room. As usual, he had a cigarette in his mouth. "What's she doing here?

I told you to leave her alone."

"And I ALWAYS do just as I'm told, don't I?" the Joker responded sweetly. "What can I say? A lonely girl, new in town, no friends... I couldn't resist inviting her over!"

"Damn you," the other man said. "You may think you're indispensable, but you aren't. The only reason you're still alive is because some of my associates want you that way."

"And you don't?"

"I'd like to see you in hell."

"And I'm sure we'll meet there some day, in the great by-and-by. It'll be old home week: you, me, Hitler, Rasputin, Nixon.... I can hardly wait!"

"You may not have to. Right now, my associates aren't present. It's just you and me."

"And Agent Scully. Don't forget Agent Scully."

The Cancer Man looked at Scully. She thought she saw genuine regret and pain in his eyes. Just a hint of it; his face was almost as mask-like as usual. But there was something there, something... almost human.

He took a drag from his cigarette, blew smoke. "I wish you hadn't brought her here. We'll discuss it later. Are you ready to proceed?"

"Oh, yes. Eddie looks nice and ripe. I've been working like a little beaver over those lovely chemicals you had sent. I just need to get a sample of Eddie's blood-- or whatever's sloshing around in his veins now-- and make a few adjustments. Then we'll be ready for the acid test."
"And you believe your formula will kill these things?"

"Believe me, Smokey old pal, if I know anything, I know killing.

Whether it's human beings or invaders from Mars. I studied everything you've been sending me for the past year. I think I have a pretty good idea what makes these things tick. I'd like to know what caused them to mutate all of a sudden, but that's really neither here nor there. They have a nice little quirk in their DNA which will make them especially vulnerable to.... But I see I'm losing you. You get a little out of your depth when it gets past 'lock and load,' don't you?"

Scully was amazed. For a moment there, while he was talking about his "work," the Joker had sounded almost sane. He really did know what he was talking about.

"Well, never mind. Let's get this show on the road. I'll get my sample from Eddie, then we'll be ready for action. Hahahahahahahahaha!" He took a hypodermic needle from his jacket pocket and moved over to Eddie's "coffin."

The Smoking Man gave Scully what seemed to be a sad look, then followed the Joker.



Mulder and Batman were jolting along a rutted dirt road in the Batmobile. According to Batman they were almost at their destination. "It's pretty desolate out here," Mulder observed.

"Yes," Batman agreed. "So what are they doing out here?"

Mulder looked ahead of them. A pair of headlights approached
from down the road.

"Sightseers?" Mulder suggested.

"I'll bet," Batman replied. He gunned the engine and aimed the
Batmobile directly toward the oncoming headlights.

Mulder squirmed. "Uh, I don't mean to tell you your business or anything..."

"Then don't," said Batman through gritted teeth. The headlights swerved to the left and Batman steered along to stay with them. They swerved back to the right and so did the Batmobile. Just as it seemed a collision was unavoidable, Batman slammed on the brakes. The Batmobile slewed to the left and came to a stop, blocking the road. Mulder could hear the flying gravel and squealing brakes as the other driver brought his vehicle to a halt. The truck tottered in a cloud of dust, looking as though it might overturn. It didn't, but rocked violently back and forth on its springs.
"What do you..." Mulder began. Then he realized he was talking to himself. The canopy covering the car's cockpit had slid open and the Batman was gone.

Mulder squinted through the windshield at the truck. Something dark had covered the windshield. Mulder heard the sound of breaking glass and thick white smoke billowed out of the cab of the truck. There was a single gunshot and what sounded like the impact of a fist on a jaw. A sharp cry, then silence.

Mulder watched Batman hop off of the hood and open the driver's side door. The smoke was dissipating, drifting lazily out through the shattered windshield. Batman crawled into the cab, stayed there for a moment, then hopped back out. he sprinted around to the rear and opened the doors. Then he dashed back over and vaulted into the seat next to Mulder.

"It was Two-Face and a couple of his goons," Batman informed him. "I trussed them up and disabled the truck. They won't be going anywhere. No sign of Scully, but we know we're on the right track." He flipped a switch on the dash. There was a burst of static, then a voice:

"Gordon here." The voice was audible, but there was plenty of static.

"It's me. I just took care of Two-Face." He gave Gordon the location. "We're on the right track. You hear all that interference?"

"Yes," Gordon responded. "I'm reading you, but you're faint."

"Someone's using some kind of electromagnetic equipment around here. We're almost at the Ace facility. Send some people out here. Equip them for... anything. I'll be in touch. Batman out." He switched off the radio.

"Do you have any idea what we're going into?" Mulder asked.

"None whatsoever. Why? Do you want to get out?"

"Hell no!"

This time Batman did smile. "I didn't think so. Hang on." he gunned the engine, swerved around the disabled truck, and roared off down the dark road.


The Joker, having obtained a sample of Eddie's blood, was studying a drop of it under a microscope. "Dear, dear," he muttered. "This is some wicked shit, man. This stuff is mutating like... crazy. Ahahahahaha! I'd better get my little formula together and pump some into poor old Eddie or we'll soon have a bouncing baby space monster on our hands. And I don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' no babies."

"This toxin of yours," the Cancer Man said, "does it merely eradicate the intrusive organism, or does it kill the human host as well?"

The Joker looked at him, grinning as always. "Does it really matter?"

The other man sighed. "I suppose not."

"That's the spirit, old man," the Joker said, clapping him on the shoulder. "We'll make a homicidal psychopath out of you yet."

"Don't touch me," he said coldly.

"That's the second time today someone's told me that." He raised his arm and sniffed at his armpit. "What's the matter? Do I offend? Hahahahahahahahaha!" He moved over to a piece of equipment set against the wall. it looked like a huge centrifuge, made of porcelain and steel. Heavy electrical cables snaked into it from the walls.

"My little recipe has been cooking for long enough now. Have to bathe the stuff in EM radiation, you know... give it that added little zing!" He flipped a switch on the device and the humming gradually faded into silence. Once it had stopped completely, he opened a circular hatch and took out a small metal vial.

"Here it is! Uncle Joker's Guaranteed Alien Killer! Hits 'em where they live!" he moved to a table, unscrewed the lid from the vial and poured it into a glass test tube which he immediately plugged with a black rubber cork. he held it up to the light to examine it. It was a pale green liquid which seemed to glow ever so slightly. "Bee-yoo-tiful!" he exclaimed. "Let's change the oil." He selected another hypo from the table, thrust the needle through the rubber cork, and filled it with the green liquid. He carefully placed the tube with the remainder of the fluid on the table and walked over to the "coffin" where the Riddler lay. The Joker lifted the lid. Eddie looked awful. His skin was almost entirely black. "Poor Eddie," the Joker whispered. "We hardly knew ye!" Then he jabbed the needle into Eddie's arm and pushed down the plunger.


"This must be the place," said Mulder, as the Batmobile roared through the gap in the fence. He pointed at the dark old building. A faded sign over the door announced that this was the "Ace Chemical Corp., Northwest Gotham Facility." Batman cut the engine and lights and let the car glide silently to a stop a few yards from the building.

"Undoubtedly," he replied. He switched on the radio and got Gordon. The transmission was clear, not a trace of static. "We're here," he said.

"I'm on my way," Gordon replied, "with as many units as I could scrape together. We'll be there in no more than 20 minutes."

"Okay." Batman cut the transmission and turned to Mulder. "Hear that? Static's gone. Whatever equipment was being used has been shut off. I don't know if that's good or bad."

"Me either," Mulder said. "So, do we go in?"

"I can't think of anything else at this point." Batman released a latch and the canopy slid back. He and Mulder climbed out of the car.

"How do we get in?" Mulder whispered.

"I like the direct approach," Batman replied, removing something from his belt. He sprinted over to the front door and attached the device to the doorknob, then dashed back to Mulder. "Get on the ground," he said, flattening himself in the dirt. He flipped a switch on his belt and a small but violent explosion took the door out of its frame.

Batman stood up. "Let's go," he said.

He and Mulder passed through the ruined doorway. "Steel door in a wooden frame," Batman said. "Real smart. The Joker would know better. Someone else must have outfitted this place." They continued down the corridor to the second door. Batman pressed himself against the corridor wall and motioned for Mulder to do the same on the other side. "Be careful," he whispered. "They'll know we're here by now."

Mulder nodded, drew his pistol from his shoulder holster. Batman gave him a sour look. At least Mulder thought he did; it was hard to tell in the gloom. It was obvious that this man didn't care much for guns.

They advanced slowly toward the door. Mulder strained his ears but could hear nothing. He looked over at his companion, who also seemed to be listening intently. Batman held up a hand, cocked his head, touched the side of his cowl. Mulder was about to whisper a question when he heard it.

From the other side of the door came a sound like tearing metal, accompanied by a low, unearthly growl. Mulder had heard a growl like that once before, not too long ago. In the Antarctic. Deep below the ground in a secret installation he had penetrated to rescue Scully. His heart started racing. "We have to get in there," he said.

Batman nodded. He moved over to the door, examined the frame. "Metal door, metal frame. Security's getting better." He took several small objects from his belt, attached them to the doorknob and both sets of hinges. "Get back down the corridor. Get outside. And be ready to get back in quick when this goes."

Mulder raced down the corridor, back into the cool night air. Batman was right behind him. "Okay," Batman said, touching something on his belt. A huge explosion rocked the building. Smoke billowed out through the door they had just run through. Batman might not like guns, but he was hell with explosives. "Let's go," Batman shouted, grabbing Mulder's sleeve, leading him at a run down the corridor. He was blinded by the smoke and stumbled a couple of times, but the Batman pulled him along.

Once they were through the second doorway, the smoke had cleared away. Mulder glanced around him, pistol at the ready. In a couple of seconds, he took in a bizarre tableau.

They were in some kind of a makeshift laboratory. Some of the equipment looked vaguely familiar, like the stuff he had seen in the Antarctic installation. His attention was drawn to the middle of the room, where the Joker, outfitted in a lab coat, was jumping up and down, clapping his hands like an overjoyed child. To the Joker's left Mulder saw one of the transparent "coffins" he had come to know and loathe. The box had apparently been ripped open from the inside, no doubt by the thing which stood next to it, moving its oversized head from side to side. He leveled his pistol at the thing. But the creature wasn't moving. It stood in place, trembling slightly, growling in a manner that was more pitiful than threatening.

And then it started to laugh.

Mulder, somewhat dazed, suddenly remembered his partner.

"Scully!" he shouted.

"She's over here," came the Batman's voice. Mulder glanced quickly to his side, still holding his gun on the creature. Scully was tied into a chair, which had toppled over on its side. She appeared to be unconscious. Batman bent over her, touching her face and wrist. "She'll be okay. She's just been knocked out." He stood and turned to face the Joker.

"Joker! What is going on here?"

The Joker turned his head to smile at his old nemesis. "Why, Batman. I'm so glad you could be here for this joyous occasion! I've just become a father! Hahahahahahahahaha! Meet Junior-- the monster formerly known as Eddie Nigma!"

Batman and Mulder looked at the thing. It was about six feet tall and hairless. Its pale skin was mottled with dark blotches and covered in a translucent, slimy substance. It didn't look quite like the things Mulder had encountered in the Antarctic. It retained a more human shape. The face was even recognizable as that of Edward Nigma. Almost. The eyes were solid black, and the mouth...

The mouth seemed to stretch from ear to ear in a hideous grin that was a slightly more awful duplicate of the Joker's. The creature swayed from side to side, laughing uncontrollably, its voice raw and terrible. It managed to stop laughing, holding its sides with its misshapen hands, trembling and swaying.

Then it spoke.

"Bat...man?" The voice was no more than a croak, brittle and
painful to hear.

"Nigma?" Batman said sharply. "Is that you?"

The creature looked down at its twisted body, its mouth twitching, the occasional giggle slipping out.

"I..hahaha... think it..hahaha...USED to be..hahahahHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!"

Batman approached the thing cautiously. "Mulder," he said. "Cover the Joker. DON'T let him get away. Not this time." Mulder moved his arm to comply. The Joker waved at him. "Hello there! You must be Dana's friend."

"Shut up, freak," Mulder growled.

"You FBI people certainly don't have much in the way of manners. Why, I..."

A soft groan and a rusting sound came from a spot a couple feet behind the Joker. A man, who had been lying on the floor, pulled himself slowly to his feet. It was a man Mulder recognized. The Cancer Man.

"So you ARE involved in this," Mulder said.

The man looked sharply in Mulder's direction. He wiped a little blood away from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Mulder," he said calmly, "what are you..." Then he saw the creature. It was still laughing, holding itself. Batman was approaching slowly and carefully. He turned to the Joker.

"What is this?" he shouted. "What have you done?"

"Wellll," the Joker said, placing an index finger against his chin. "I thought about doing like you said, cooking up a potion to kill those things? But then I thought, wouldn't it be a lot more fun if I could sort of... alter them. Make them a little more like ME! So I modified the toxin I was working on, tossed in a dash of my handy Joker Venom, and voila..." He indicated the creature with a sweep of his hand.

"The Laughing Extraterrestrial!"

"You god damned bastard," said the Cancer Man in a low, dangerous voice. He took a pistol from his jacket and pointed it at the Joker. "Why? You know what's at stake here! WHY did you do this?"

The Joker gave him a blank look. "Why...just for jolly. Wouldn't you?"

"This is it for you, freak," said the Cancer Man, moving his gun into position for a killing shot.

"BOTH of you keep still," Mulder shouted, moving his gun back and forth to cover both men.

"Don't make a move, Smokey. I'd just as soon shoot you as look at you, and you know that. Give me an excuse and see what happens."

The other man lowered his arm, but did not drop the pistol. The Joker laughed softly, his eyes blissfully closed.

Meanwhile, the Batman had reached the creature that had once been Eddie Nigma. He stood two feet in front of the thing and spoke.

"Nigma. Eddie. How do you feel?"

"Well...hahahaha... I've felt.....hahahaha... better....

"I'm...hahahaha... having trouble thinking...."

"We'll get you some help. Can you control yourself?"

"I...hahahaha... don't think I can...hahahaha... oh, God, I know
what I ...hahahahaAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! KILL YOU!!! KILL YOU!!!"

The thing gave a tremendous roar and leapt at the Batman, who dropped into a crouch and sent the thing sailing over his head, to crash into a bank of machinery on the opposite wall. The monster laughed and laughed as it pulled itself upright and moved its head around until it located its foe.

"HAHAHAHAHA!!! KILL!!! KILL!!! HAHAHAHA!!!!" It jumped at the Batman again, clawed hands held out in front of it. It dived straight at him, laughing and slobbering.
This time Batman jumped over the thing. It slid across the floor and smacked into the wall. Batman hit the ground and twirled around to face the monster. He grabbed something from his belt.

"Did I mention," the Joker remarked matter-of-factly, "that I put in a dash of a certain hormonal concoction of mine that produces homicidal rage? Ooops! A great chef never reveals his secret ingredient..."

"SHUT UP!" said Mulder and the Cancer Man in unison.

The monster was on its feet again, moving from side to side, seeking on opportunity to jump the Batman once more. For a second, Mulder thought Batman was pointing a pistol at the thing. But the device in Batman's hands looked more like a small harpoon gun. Batman jerked a trigger on the device, it kicked sharply and gave a loud, metallic twanging sound. What appeared to be a large coiled spring snapped out, wrapping itself tightly around the erstwhile Riddler. The creature fell to the floor, struggling against the coils of metal that bound it, but could not free itself. It laughed and screamed and threatened.

"HHAHAHAHAHA!!! KILL YOU, KILL YOU, KILL YOU!!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"

Batman walked calmly over to the thrashing monster and applied what appeared to be a vaccination gun to its shoulder. There was a hissing noise and the creature eventually fell silent.

"Animal tranquilizer," Batman explained. "Enough to put down an elephant. A small elephant. I hope it wasn't too much." He knelt down beside the thing. "It's... HE'S still breathing." Batman touched Eddie's neck. "Pulse is very high, but steady." He stood up and turned to face the Joker. His mouth was a grim line. The white eye-slits narrowed. His body language broadcast his barely-controlled rage.

"This time you've outdone yourself," he said in a tone which made the hair stand up on the back of Mulder's neck. THIS was the Batman of legend, the frightening Dark Knight of Gotham City. Mulder decided he would not like to find himself at odds with this man.

Batman approached the Joker, who stood nonchalantly, smiling as always. "Well, thanks for the compliment, but I think I could..." The Joker was silenced by the open-handed slap Batman delivered to the side of his head. He almost lost his balance, but righted himself, rubbing the side of his face. A thin trickle of blood leaked from the corner of his grinning mouth.
Mulder divided his attention between the confrontation between Batman and his enemy and the Cancer Man, who stood rooted to the spot, silent, pistol at his side. Mulder kept his gun trained on his old nemesis, now that Batman had the Joker in hand.

Batman had grabbed the Joker by the lapels of his lab coat and pulled the clown's face to within a couple inches of his own. "Is there any way to reverse what you've done to him?"

The Joker squinted, pretending to search his memory. "Wellll.... Maybe, maybe not. There IS an antidote to my Joker Venom. You know that.

I'll bet you've got some in that darling little belt of yours. And there IS an antidote to the Black Virus. Ask Smokey about that-- of course that stuff only works if the process isn't too far along. But maybe my little... treatment arrested the mutation process in poor Eddie's system to where a combination of the two could return him to... normal. If you can call him normal. Now, the rage thing, that's another story... assuming we clear all the other little bugs out of his system, he's still gonna be one mighty pissed-off fellow, for a good long while."

Batman stared at his old enemy for several seconds. Then he hit him again, twirled him around and cuffed his hands behind him. He knocked the Joker to the floor with a short kick to the chest. "Stay there," Batman said dryly.

"Rodney King! Rodney King!" the Joker squawked. "Where is a concerned citizen with a camcorder when you need one? I ASK you!"

Batman had indeed brought along a supply of Joker Venom antidote, and he gave Eddie a shot of it. He examined the creature's face. The jaw muscles did seem to be relaxing a bit. That was something.

Batman stood and approached the Cancer Man.

"You," he said. "I don't know who you are and I don't care. Drop that gun. Now." To Mulder's surprise, the Cancer Man did as he was told.

He had never seen anyone intimidate the man until now.

"You've been working with him," Batman continued, his face inches from the Cancer Man's. "That makes you scum. You're going to go down. But first, you're going to tell me about this Black Virus antidote. Is there such a thing?"

Cancer Man nodded.

"Where is it? Is there any here?"

The other man pointed to one of the lab tables. "It's in the blue tube there. The Joker was right. it should work if the virus has not yet mutated. I don't think..."

But Batman was no longer listening. He had moved over to the table and picked up the tube. He looked back at the Cancer Man.

"This better work. If you're lying to me..."

"No, I swear," the other man said. Mulder was puzzled. The man was acting...odd. He didn't seem to be afraid. Mulder knew that this man seemed to be virtually fearless. But the Batman was producing some kind of weird emotional response. It seemed as though... Mulder considered it for a moment. Yes, it seemed as though the Cancer Man desperately wanted the Batman's respect. That was something to think about...

Batman filled a hypodermic from the tube and gave Eddie a shot of the antidote. "The reaction won't be immediate," Cancer Man piped up, like a school kid shouting out an answer in class, seeking favor from a teacher. "Give it a few hours. Then we'll know something."

Batman paid him no attention. He moved to the Joker, pulled the clown to his feet and held him by his lab coat.

Mulder had moved a little closer to the Cancer Man, still covering him with his pistol. "What's going on here?" he demanded. "I want some answers from you, you son of a bitch."

"Agent Mulder, I know you have no reason to trust me..."

"THAT'S an understatement."

"You wouldn't believe me, I suppose, if I told you I was doing what I think is right?"

"That's what Hitler said."

The other man sighed. "Do you mind if I have a cigarette?"

"Yes, I do," Mulder said. "You're not going to move."

"Now," Batman said coldly, "suppose you tell me some things. Who are you? We know you aren't the Red Hood. We found what was left of him."

"Do tell?" the Joker replied. "Why, I never thought you bought that silly story in the first place. You disappoint me, Bats. That idiot was just a hired hand, a dupe I used to obtain some chemicals I needed. TRY to obtain. He screwed it up royally... with some help from you. At the time, I was still working on my... new look."

"You did this to yourself? Deliberately?"

"Sure! You don't get a masterpiece like me overnight. You idiot, did you fall into a barrel of bat shit one day and climb out with that costume and that belt full of gadgets and that anti-social attitude of yours? Yes, I did it to myself!"

"Why? Why would you turn yourself into... this?"

"Because THIS IS WHAT I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN! Ever since I was BORN! Don't you get it? I always thought YOU of all people might UNDERSTAND!"

Batman shook his head. "I'll never understand..."

There was a low groan from the other side of the room. Agent Scully's voice came, weakly, "Mulder?"

Mulder turned his head for a moment. That was all the opportunity the Cancer Man needed. He swiftly reached into his jacket and produced a second pistol. He took aim and squeezed off four quick shots. Two caught Batman in the chest, the other two hit the Joker.

Both of them went down.

Mulder whirled and fired, but missed. The Cancer Man had sprinted away into the gloom of a narrow corridor. Mulder wasn't sure, but he thought he had heard the man say, "I'm sorry," before he was gone.

For half a second, Mulder stood, torn between his desire to try to catch his old enemy and the need to check on Scully and Batman. But there was really no choice. He went first to the Batman, who was already stirring. Mulder saw two dark streaks on the front of the black costume, but no holes.

"You're okay?" he said, helping Batman to his feet.

"Yes," Batman said, taking deep breaths. "I'm pretty well armored. Knocked the wind out of me, though." He glanced over at the Joker. The clown lay motionless, the front of his white jacket soaked in blood. Batman looked back at Mulder. "Which way did that man go?" Mulder pointed down the corridor. "I'll try to catch him," Batman said. "You take care of Agent Scully... and see if anything can be done for him." He jerked a thumb at the still form of the Joker and was gone.
Mulder looked at the clown. It didn't look good. He didn't appear to be breathing and his eyes were wide open, pupils dilated. The horrible grin was still in place, blood trickling from between the large, yellowed teeth.

He turned his attention to Scully, whose eyes were fluttering open. He quickly cut the ropes that held her to the chair and helped her to her feet.

"Mulder," she said, focusing her eyes on him, smiling. "You made it. How do you like Gotham City?"

He said nothing, just hugged her tightly for a moment. She returned the hug, then stepped back. They looked each other up and down.

For a second or two there was an uncomfortable silence.

"So, what happened?" she asked. "The Cancer Man was here. The Joker did something to Eddie Nigma... something happened to that chamber he was in... then there was an explosion. I guess it knocked me out."

"I'm not sure what happened myself, Scully," he replied. "We'll figure it out later. The police should be here soon." He led her over to the thing that had been Eddie Nigma. Eddie was looking a bit more human, actually. His skin tone was better and the black blotches seemed to be fading. "Well," said Mulder. "He might come out of this okay." He stood up. "But I don't think we'll have to worry about the Joker any more."

Scully went over and knelt by the prone figure of the clown, performing a rapid examination. Mulder stood behind her. "If anything good has come of this, at least the world is rid of ONE monster."

Scully looked up at him, her eyes wide. "Not so fast, Mulder."

She looked back at the Joker, then to Mulder again. "This man is alive. And he's going to live."
They stared at each other for a few seconds, until their attention was drawn by the sound of approaching sirens.




EPILOGUE:
THREE MONTHS LATER
WASHINGTON D.C. 12:42 p.m.

Fox Mulder sat in the hallway outside the hearing room. Scully was inside, testifying before a Justice Department panel. Again. Mulder had the feeling they were going to pull the plug on the X-Files. Again.

He sat fidgeting on the hard bench, then he stood up and paced around in the hallway. What was taking so long? What was going on in there? His cellular phone chirped from inside his jacket pocket.

"Mulder here."

"Agent Mulder. How are things going?"

For a moment, Mulder didn't recognize the voice. He was about to ask for identification when it dawned on him.

"You! I... wasn't expecting to hear from you. How did you get my number?"
Silence from the other end. Then, "Anything I say might tend to incriminate me..."

"Well, I'm glad to see you still have your budding sense of humor." He sighed. "As for how things are going, not so hot. I think the X-Files are about to be shut down. But it's happened before. Anyhow, we're still having trouble with our...friend you met a few months ago."

"The one that got away. I'm sorry I couldn't catch him."

"Don't be. He may not look like much, but he's slippery. What about YOUR friend?"

"He's still in the hospital. At Blackgate this time instead of Arkham. He's recovering slowly. He should be dead, but... He's always had a way of bouncing back from what seemed like certain death..."

"I know the type."

"Yes. Of course, we didn't get anything useful out of the storage facility. I guess you heard what happened. About an hour after the police took you, Scully and Nigma out, the place went up. He'd had it rigged-- basement full of explosives. Four cops died. Four more marks on the Joker's scoreboard."

"And the Cancer Man's. They both have a lot to answer for."

"Yes. I hope, someday, they will have to. As for Nigma, he's slowly returning to normal, physically. But whatever the Joker gave him has done a real number on his mind. He's currently under heavy sedation and restraint at Arkham. The doctors don't know if he'll ever pull out of it. So. How is Agent Scully?"

"She's fine. You never got to meet her, did you?"

"Ah... no. No, I didn't."

Mulder chuckled. "She doesn't believe in you, you know. You're an 'urban legend.' She says that you are 'totally improbable, unlikely and impossible.'"

A brief chuckle came through the phone. "Maybe she's right. Well, you take care of her, Agent Mulder. She's a very special... agent."

"Yes. Yes, she is. But how do you..." Mulder realized he was talking to himself. The other party had cut the connection. He shrugged, folded up his phone and stuck it back into his pocket.
At that moment, Scully emerged from the hearing room. She looked as downbeat as Mulder had ever seen her.

"They've shut us down again, Mulder," she said shortly.

Mulder nodded. "Not too unexpected. Cheer up. It's happened before. Why, I was just saying to Batman..."

Scully gave him a look and a crooked half-smile. "Batman? Nice try, Mulder, but it'll take more than lame jokes to cheer me up today."

"He asked about you."

"Very nice. I'm flattered. Did you happen to talk to the Easter Bunny today, too?"

"No. But Santa Claus sends his regards."

"You're really something, Mulder."

"So are you, Scully."

They walked down the corridor together in silence.

THE END

AND I SHALL SHED MY LIGHT...

An Untold Tale of Bruce Wayne
By Chuck Miller
CHARACTER COPYRIGHTS OWNED BY DC COMICS, NOT ME.
THIS WORK IS NOT FOR PROFIT.

MASSIVELY HUGE AND ENORMOUS THANKS
to Andrew "Captain Comics" Smith for running this the first time!!!

"In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. 'Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,' he told me, 'just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had.' " -- from The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald

"Bruce Wayne believed in the green light ..."

SCENE: NIGHT, a short ways outside of Gotham City. Wayne Manor. All is in shadows. There is one lighted window in an upper story, and in it, a young boy, his face a white blur: "DAD! LOOK! IT'S HIM!"

Now we are inside the room. Young Bruce Wayne is sitting up in bed, pointing at a small, green light in the sky. "IT'S HIM." Thomas Wayne, standing beside his son's bed, smiling indulgently. "HMMMM. NO, SON, I THINK THAT'S JUST AN AIRPLANE. SORRY."

Bruce slumps back on the bed, smiling. "NO, I'LL BET IT WAS HIM. ON PATROL." We see now that there are a number of small items of Green Lantern memorabilia in the room. An action figure stands crookedly on the night stand.

Bruce picks up the figure. 'HE'S PROBABLY AFTER THE SHADE OR THE GAMBLER OR ONE OF THOSE GUYS."

Thomas Wayne leans over to kiss his son goodnight. "YOU MAY BE RIGHT, BRUCE. GOOD NIGHT."

Bruce, still holding the figure: "NIGHT, DAD."

In Smallville, Kansas, a young boy about Bruce's age sleeps and dreams a recurring dream of crystal spires beneath a hazy green sky.

In Memphis, Tennessee, a sick and dispirited King takes shaky aim at a television screen with a gleaming silver .44-caliber revolver and squeezes the trigger.

In Central City, a boy named Barry, up late in defiance of parental injunction, carefully places an inverted colander with paper wings taped to the sides on top of his head, in homage to his favorite hero.

In Washington, DC, the most powerful man in the world decides that it is time, once again, to tell the world that it won't have him to kick around any more.

On the West Coast, a boy named Hal sees a green light in the sky and knows it is an airplane and dreams of the day he will fly one himself. Green Lantern never enters his mind.

In a middle-class suburb of Gotham City, a man named Joe finishes off a pint of inexpensive bourbon and tells himself that the thing he is planning to do will turn out okay, and then he will go straight forever after...

Thomas and Martha Wayne prepare for bed. Thomas is a large man, almost beefy, with incongruously slim and sensitive-looking hands. He is a wealthy man, and he wears light blue silk pajamas carefully laid out for him by his gentleman's gentleman. His wife wears an elegant white nightgown, trimmed in expensive lace.

Thomas Wayne yawns and stretches and says to his wife, "Bruce thought he saw the Green Lantern tonight. It was an airplane landing light or something. He was as excited as I've ever seen him. I wish he'd show as much enthusiasm for his schoolwork."

"He's a boy, Thomas," Martha tells him. She is not beautiful, but her face is good and strong and kind. "That's what boys DO."

"I know, I know ... But I don't want him thinking that flashy super-powers are the answer to life's problems." Wayne is a pragmatic man, a self-made doctor, a believer in self-reliance. He was born to wealth, lots of wealth, but never coasted on it. He put himself through med school and established a small practice in Metropolis, where he met his wife, before returning to Gotham and Wayne Manor.

"Oh, it's a phase," his wife tells him. "I'll bet you went through the same thing. Unless that old Hourman costume Alfred found in the attic belonged to your sister."

"I know that, too. I just don't want Bruce growing up with wild ideas. Sure, I loved the Justice Society. Every kid did. But they disappeared. Copped out. They did some good, yes, but in the end they were unreliable. Everybody has to grow up sometime. You can't go through life expecting Green Lantern or the Flash to come save the day."

"Do you think it was ever really that simple? For THEM, I mean? They must have had their share of problems, and I'm sure they didn't win ALL the time."

"Maybe. But Bruce doesn't see any of that. All he knows about Green Lantern is what he sees on that ridiculous television program."

Thomas refers to The Adventures of Green Lantern, a show popular in the 1960s, known for its appalling special effects and even worse scripts. Produced locally by the Gotham Broadcasting Corporation, it starred a young Canadian actor named William Shatner, whose career never managed to crawl out from beneath the weight of his most famous role.

"Well, we've plenty of time. You're a good Father, Thomas. You'll guide him the right way. He'll be fine as long as he has you -- us."

"Yes ... Yes, I suppose you're right." He kisses his wife and they settle in for sleep.

Joseph Leslie Chileskewicsz, known as "Joey Chill" back in the day when he ran with the sad old remnants of Boss Moxie's gang in Metropolis, a green and stupid kid among a bunch of aging, also-ran gangsters. Stupid Joey Chill, who did eight of a 20-year sentence on Stryker's Island on a robbery conviction, who never ratted out the men behind him, who learned things in the joint he never wanted to know. When he got out he promised himself that was it, he'd go straight. And he did. He changed his name legally, shortened it to Chill, left Metropolis, moved to Gotham where he knew no one. He got a job and he got a wife and they had a kid but the kid died before it was a year old. It was a boy and they called him Joseph Leslie Chill, Jr., and they buried him in City Cemetery in the rain in a coffin no bigger than a shoebox. Now the wife was pregnant again. The doctor said the baby looked fine, everything would be okay. Then Joey lost his job. The company he was working for sold out and the buyer closed up the operation. Bills kept coming in, though. You can't just go out and get a job like snapping your fingers when you got a record, especially when you did hard time.

When times are hard, you go back to what you know. Joe Chill talked to a guy who talked to a guy and he gave a hundred of his last $250 for a snub-nosed .32 with the numbers filed off and he would do this thing one last time, just to get enough to tide his little family over until he found someone who would hire him, and no one would be hurt by it.

SCENE: Thomas Wayne is seated in the comfortable private office of his old family friend, Alan Scott, owner of the Gotham Broadcasting Corporation. The two sit in comfortable plush chairs on either side of a small wooden table, sipping drinks.

WAYNE: I've been a little worried about the boy. I suppose it's really nothing. He's going through one of those "hero-worship" phases. All I hear is Green Lantern this and Green Lantern that.

SCOTT: You don't say.

WAYNE: Yeah. I know I worry too much, but ... All that was a long time ago. Those costumed heroes had their place, sure, and I'm not saying they didn't do a lot of good. But they're gone now. A man has to be able to rely on himself. I don't want Bruce growing up thinking magic rings and super-powers are the answer to everything.

SCOTT: I suppose you're right. In my day -- prehistoric times, Thomas, when your father and I were boys -- We idolized the old movie heroes. Tom Mix, Douglas Fairbanks ...

WAYNE: I know. That's normal. At least those guys were ... well, HUMAN. They had to rely on their wits and their own strengths.

SCOTT (a little smile touching his lips): And the JSA weren't human?

WAYNE: Well, who knows? That was the point, wasn't it? We didn't know anything about them, not really. And then they were gone! Anyhow, that's not why I came today. I wanted to ask you for a little help. You've done so well with Gotham Broadcasting, you've diversified into other areas ... I'd like a little financial advice, actually. I want to set up a foundation, something to help people, scholarships, grants, that sort of thing. I need some assistance with my capital. I invest, of course, and my accountants are good -- but I've seen what you've done with GBC and your other projects in just the last 10 years. That's the kind of return I want to see. Wayne Enterprises is doing well, and I want to put a portion of the profits into this foundation. Truth, Alan, I hope someday Bruce will take it over.

SCOTT: You aren't jumping the gun? Bruce is eight years old, Thomas. You want to start mapping out his future already?

WAYNE: Of course not. But I want him to have something worthwhile to do, if he wants it. I wouldn't dream of forcing him into it.

SCOTT: Oh, of course not.

WAYNE: I don't like the way you said that. You think I'm --?

SCOTT: Thomas, I know you wouldn't try to force your boy into anything. Just like your father didn't try to FORCE you into real estate. But he wanted that for you and he let you know it. Even though he never stood in your way, you knew he was disappointed. He would have happily paid your way through medical school, but you would have known he'd rather be paying for something else. That's why you did it yourself, isn't it?

WAYNE: Hm. Alan, am I turning into my father?

SCOTT (laughs): No, but I think he is still very much with you. You want him to be proud of you. You miss him. I miss mine, too, and he's been gone for more than 35 years now. Every boy wants to make his father proud of him. I hope mine is. You know, he hoped I would go into the ministry like him. But I wanted to be an engineer. And he let me know that I had done well, before he died. "Never be cruel, Alan." I don't know how many times he told me that. "Never hurt anyone on purpose, and try to do something good every day." I don't know that I've succeeded 100 percent, but I like to think ... I like to think I've done some good. One thing I hope you will do, which your father didn't quite succeed in doing for you is -- whatever Bruce winds up doing with his life, I hope you'll let him know it's good enough.

WAYNE: Well, you've given me something to think about. And I promise you, I honestly will. But I still want to look into setting up and financing this foundation.

SCOTT: Oh, that's an excellent idea. In fact, I have just the man for you. Name's Lucius Fox. I'll give him a call this afternoon.

WAYNE: That's great!

SCOTT: No problem. Say, listen ... about what we were discussing earlier? The old movie heroes? Well, you know, GBC recently bought the old Gotham Grand Movie Palace. We're going to close it down at the end of the year, turn it into a television studio. But from now until December, we're showing a double-feature every Saturday night. This week it's Fairbanks in The Mark of Zorro. Why don't you bring Martha and Bruce? On the house.

WAYNE: Hm. Yeah, we just might. The Mark of Zorro, huh? I remember that one ... What's the other one?

SCOTT: Beg pardon?

WAYNE: You said it was a double feature. What else is showing?

SCOTT: Oh... One of Bela Lugosi's old B-pictures. I think it's called The Bat or something. I wanted to get Dracula, but we couldn't find a decent print.


Gotham City, Park Row, night. Joe chill huddles in the doorway of a small tea shop. He is on a side street around the corner from the Gotham Grand Theater. He has his eye on a silver Rolls Royce parked in front of the tea shop. Checks his watch. The movie lets out in five minutes. Just wait. It will turn out fine. He fingers the gun in his pocket. He won't have to use it, other than for show, but it is loaded just the same. There's absolutely no sense carrying an unloaded gun. A lesson from his misspent youth.


The Waynes exit the theater. It is a nice, warm summer evening. They decide to cut back through the alley to where the Rolls is parked on a side street.


"So, what did you think of Zorro, son?"


"Oh, he was OKAY ... But he was kinda boring, you know? I mean, all's he has is that sword. It's not as good as a power ring. And that black costume! You can't hardly even SEE him. I still like Green Lantern better."

Thomas Wayne sighs. He is about to speak when a figure steps out of the shadows, brandishing a pistol.

"Okay," says the man. "This is a stickup. I'll take that necklace you're wearing, lady."


Thomas steps forward. "Leave my wife alone, you --Wait? Why, is that ... Joe? Yes, by God, that's you. It's me, Doctor Wayne. You remember me, don't you?" Doctor Wayne prides himself on his formidable memory for faces. Tonight, it will cost him.


Oh, no, no, no, no, no. Of all the people to run into. This guy was an assistant to the prison doc at Stryker's for two months. Helped fix young Joey up when he got a little ... damaged one time.


"Why, man, you don't have to resort to this! Here, let me ..." He reaches into his jacket, a gesture that hits Joe Chill in the viscera. For a moment, thought suspends itself and something like instinct takes over.


Joe's first shot clips the upper edge of Thomas Wayne's left eye socket, the impact pulping the eyeball, then takes a downward trajectory through his brain and exits through the back of his neck. His hand, clutching a billfold, not a pistol, jerks out of his jacket as he falls. Martha, meanwhile, has lunged at Joe, arms outstretched. He crouches down quickly, moves the hot muzzle her way and squeezes the trigger again. The bullet punches its way between two ribs, tears a hole in the side of her heart, goes through a lung, and leaves her body below her left armpit. Thomas has hit the ground by now, dead already though his heart will beat a dozen more times, pumping blood out through the hole in the back of his neck. And Martha goes to her knees, lung filling with blood, blood spurting from her mouth and nose as she tries to say something. This all takes less than three seconds, and it is done before the two surviving human beings in the alley fully realize what has happened. Martha tumbles onto her back, eyes gone cold, her head only a foot from her husband's, and lies still. The echoes of the shots and the smell of cordite fill the ears and nostrils of the man and the boy and their vision is identically blurred by afterimages of the muzzle flashes.

Bruce has watched the whole thing, unable to move, unaware for the moment that he has a body that can be moved. He looks up at the gunman. Fear all over the man's face. Bruce is afraid, too, but there is something else, something being born, and it scares the gunman.

"Stop ... Stop looking at me like that, kid." He considers, for less than a second, shooting the kid. The only witness left. But he can't do it. Joe, Jr. ... He can't do it. he turns and runs.

SCENE: NIGHT, a dark alley, seen from above. A young boy stands staring at the ground, the bodies of his mother and father on either side of him.

Suddenly, Bruce sees a green glow from around the corner of the alley. Thinks it's his hero come to save the day. He shouts for help as the mugger runs off. Bruce runs toward the green light. "GREEN LANTERN! HELP! YOU GOT TO HELP MY FOLKS!"

Before he reaches the end of the alley, the green light turns red. Stunned, he steps out into the street and stares at the traffic signal. He face goes from anguish and surprise to anger and finally to dead, cold calm.


Green Lantern drops from the sky, ring glowing green, to land silently in the dark alley. He hears and sees the yellow police tape flapping in the wind, sees the chalk outlines of his two friends. When he read about the Waynes' murder in the paper this morning, he took the Ring from his office safe, and for the first time in six months, touched it to the Power Battery and recited his oath:

"... And I shall shed my light over dark evil, "For the dark things cannot stand the light, "The light of the Green Lantern!"

Now, in the alley, he sets his jaw and orders his ring to show him what happened the night before.

Alan Scott is unaware of the exact mechanism by which the ring does this. Long ago, he stopped wondering about such things and learned to accept. In fact, it the ring emits a small storm of tachyons, subatomic particles that move backward through time. They envelop him and the patch of ground he stands on, bending time, allowing him to view the past.

He witnesses the shooting in fuzzy, shadow form, like a bad TV broadcast. Sees the mugger run. Follows him. Watches the man make his way to the suburbs, where he takes the gun into a garage behind a small house and smashes it to fragments with a sledge hammer. The Green Lantern, a ghost moving in this gray changeless world of the past, notes the man's address.
Fully in the present again, he prepares to pay a visit.

Joe Chill's little suburban cottage. A dark figure with green fire on its hand drops from the sky and lights on the street in front, walks around to the kitchen door. Joe is seated at the table, drinking bourbon from a pint bottle.

The Green Lantern tells his ring to open the door, and not to be gentle about it.

The green fire lashes out at the door, bounces away harmlessly.

Of course. The door is wooden. His ring doesn't work against anything made of wood. He doesn't know why. Green Lantern steps forward and opens it himself, with his foot. Chill turns his head.

"You," says Alan Scott, the Green Lantern, his voice as cold as the cold green fire on his finger, "You killed them."

Chill stands up, knocking the kitchen chair over. "I -- No, I didn't -- I ..."

"Yes," says the Green Lantern, stalking slowly toward the frightened man. "I know. I know." He holds up his hand, the ring's terrible power throbbing there. "THIS told me. It never lies. You can't lie."

Chill is perspiring freely. His eyes are wide and moist. "I didn't -- I didn't MEAN to.... I only wanted to ..."

The Green Lantern grabs Joe Chill by his shirtfront, popping off a button. "I don't care what you meant or what you wanted. You killed two people."

Chill finds a small spark of defiance somewhere in his soul. "You -- You can't PROVE anything. The gun was cold, and it's gone now. It doesn't exist any more. No one saw me but the kid and he's just a kid. You got nothing to take to the cops."

The Green Lantern laughs and Joe Chill almost empties his bladder. "Cops? No, no cops," he says in a conversational tone. "Just me and you." He tightens his grip on the shirt, raises his other hand, his ring hand, to Chill's eyes. "And this." The little kitchen is painted green with the light.

"I can do anything I want to," he continues, releasing his hold on Chill's shirt. "But first, I'll show you how I did it in the old days, before I learned what this ring could really do."

The Green Lantern hits Joe Chill in the face. Only moderately hard to begin with, but enough to knock him off his feet.

"Get up," says the Lantern. Chill does, slowly, blood and small fragments of broken tooth dripping onto the linoleum from his puffed-out lower lip. The Lantern hits him again, a bit harder this time, blood splatters in an arc over the floor and table. The rest of the broken tooth goes. Chill goes down again.

"Get UP!" says the Green Lantern, hauling Chill to his feet once again. He holds the man by the shoulders, stares into his eyes. "Now, you son of a bitch, you're going to tell me WHY. WHY did you shoot them?"

Chill's jaw moves, he spits blood onto the floor between the Lantern's feet.

"Got scared. Th' guy, he KNEW me, knew my name. Seen him in Metropolis, YEARS ago. Lost m' head, pulled th' damn trigger. Goddammit, I wish I didn't do it!"

"That doesn't answer my question. WHY?"

"MONEY, goddammit," Chill says through terribly swollen lips. "The hell you THINK? Wife's havin' a kid, and I lost m' damn JOB!"

"Lost your JOB!" grits the Lantern. "That's your excuse? You lost your JOB?"

"YES!" screams Chill, defiant again, "I lost m' JOB! What does that mean to YOU? Guy with a damn magic ring. Drove a truck f'r five damn YEARS f'r Ajax an' I lost my JOB 'cause the company sold out and nobody'll hire me."

"Truck ..." The Green Lantern loosens his grip on Chill's shoulders, allows him to stand by himself. "Who ... bought the company?" Silence. "TELL me! WHO bought out the company?"

Chill wipes blood from his face with the back of a hand. "Goddamn outfit called Kinestra Investments. Bought Ajax then turned around and closed up, gonna sell the trucks an' th' warehouse to someone else."

Now the Green Lantern is silent. Alan Scott is silent, and he can hear his own heart beating in his chest, beneath the red shirt he wears, the red shirt that won't show the blood of Joe Chill spattered on it.

Kinestra Investments. A wholly owned subsidiary of the Gotham Broadcasting Corporation.

"No," says Alan Scott, eyes narrowing behind his purple mask, "NO, this isn't MY fault, you can't turn it around on ME like this."

Joe Chill, squinting into the angry face, puzzled. "Th' hell you TALKING about?"

Alan Scott grabs Joe's shirtfront again, pulls him close. "You're SCUM. You're GARBAGE. Killing people -- " The ring flares, illuminating the little kitchen. "I'm going to ..."

From the kitchen doorway, a woman's voice, frightened but strong. "Joe? Honey? What -- ?"

POV: We are peeking over BARBARA CHILL'S shoulder, looking at the scene in the kitchen, seeing what she sees. Her husband in the grip of a fiend. Green light, green fire. A terrible thing clutching at Joe's chest, killing him. She SCREAMS, takes a step forward.

In this moment, the ring does something its wearer has not willed it do to -- it takes from Barbara Chill's mind the image of him as she sees him now and shows it to him: a cold, arrogant monster, as terrible and bloody-minded as Solomon Grundy, the Shade or Per Degaton ever were.

Still reeling from what he has just seen, Green Lantern turns his head just in time to see a short and very pregnant young woman slip on a little puddle of blood, lose her footing and land hard on her buttocks. She flops over onto her back, head striking the floor, crying like a small child.

Scott releases her husband and sprints over to Barbara's side, using his ring to check her vital signs and those of her baby.

"You're okay," he tells her, "and your baby's fine, too. But you should still ..."

"GET OUT!" The ring is supposed to automatically protect him from harm, but Barbara Chill's small white hand catches him hard across the jaw, almost knocking him over.

"Ma'am," he says, righting himself, "I don't ...You -- "

"JOE! CALL THE POLICE! GET THIS THING OUT OF OUR HOUSE!!!"

"Please, ma'am, I can help you. I can ..."

Joe Chill's hand on his shoulder. He speaks softly to his recent tormentor. "Please, man," he says. "Just go now. I'll take care of her. You can come back later, do whatever you want. You can take me to the cops or ... whatever. I won't run and I won't fight you. But let me take care of my wife. PLEASE."

The Green Lantern just nods dumbly and takes his leave.

Joe Chill will spend every day of the rest of his life wondering if today is the day the Green Lantern will come back for him.

In spite of the summer heat, young Bruce Wayne has built a large fire in the main drawing room at Wayne Manor. He is now master of this house, and may do as he wishes. The smell of burning plastic fills the room as the boy, still dressed in the suit he wore to his parents' funeral, feeds his toys to the fire. Green Lantern burns in effigy time and again.

"My word!" exclaims Alfred, rushing into the room. "Whatever are you doing, Master Bruce?"

"Getting rid of some things I don't need," the boy says blandly.

Alfred wrings his hands, afraid for the boy's sanity.

Alan Scott's ringless fingers, working quickly, solder shut the small metal container. Later on today, he will take it to his bank and place it in his safe deposit box, until ... Well, just until.

For the time being, at least, he intends to stop playing with fire. He needs to keep a closer eye on what his companies are doing. It's the only proper role for a man of his age.

And he has still other concerns. He has learned that Thomas Wayne, in a very recent codicil to his will, has made Alan Scott one of the administrators in charge of his estate. Plans for the Wayne Foundation will proceed.

He stands up from behind his desk, walks to the ornate fireplace on one wall, and, in spite of the summer heat, builds a fire. Once it is sufficient to the task, he feeds it from a brown grocery bag. A red shirt, a purple cape, green leotards, a purple mask.
His secretary, drawn by the aroma of burning cloth, enters.

"Mister Scott! What -- What are you doing?"

"Getting rid of some things I don't need," the man says blandly. "That will be all, Miss Needham."

"Yes sir ..."

GOTHAM CITY 20 years later

"Is this really, ABSOLUTELY necessary, sir?"

Bruce Wayne pulls the cowl over his head. When he speaks his voice is hard and cold. His true voice, Alfred realizes with a shudder. The voice, the persona of Bruce Wayne are the disguise, not this hideous mask. "Yes," he says shortly.

"There must be something else, sir," Alfred Pennyworth implores. "This is ... It is madness, sir. There, I've said it. Your father, your mother, they don't blame you for what happened. No one does except for yourself, sir."

"This isn't about blame, Alfred. This is about keeping other people safe. This is the best thing I know to do."

Alfred shakes his head. "Your father would not want this for you, sir. Bruce. Please."

"I'm sorry, Alfred. Thank you for your concern." Pulling on the black gauntlets. "I don't know what my father would want. Whatever I do ... Whatever I do, it will never be good enough."

Alfred sighs. "Thomas Wayne died many years ago, sir. And, forgive me for saying it, I sometimes feel that BRUCE Wayne did so that night as well."

A moment of silence from the inhuman figure. Then he -- IT turns to regard its factotum with blank eyes.

"No, Alfred," says the Bat slowly, "that was the night I was born."

"That," says Alfred without flinching, "is precisely what I mean, sir."

The Bat may or may not nod slightly before it gets into the absurd, supercharged automobile and tears out of the underground cave. Alfred turns and ascends the steps to Wayne Manor.


"He had come a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.
"Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter -- tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. ... and one fine morning -- So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." -- from The Great Gatsby

THE END