The DCFutures FanFiction Group recognizes that Batman and all related characters are property of DC Comics. These stories are written for no profit, but rather a strong desire to peer into the future of the DCU. The stories and concepts presented herein, however, are property of the author. So there. **** BATMAN: DCF #43 **** Written and Directed by Erik Burnham darvey@rocketmail.com **** BATMAN created by Bob Kane and Bill Finger BATMAN: DCF created by Erik Burnham **** “Three Blind” **** The Batman clicked the infrared sensors in his mask on as he peered in through the window before him. He had been here, once before, back when he was trying to make like a detective and catch the Joker killer. Things hadn’t changed much in the interim; the apartment was still sparsely decorated, clothing and knickknacks scattered about an ancient stereo system and chair. Cleaning lady must be on strike, Tim thought. Coulda swore that same sock was draped across the back of the chair at that same angle the one other time he had laid eyes on the place, all those months ago. Inside. Listen. Soft moaning. Irregular breathing. Other room. Batarang at the ready. Swift, steady movements. Wow. A CD. Haven’t seen one of those in years. Kitchen clear. Bathroom clear. Bedroom. “My God,” Tim breathed. Jon Isaacs was bound to the bed, soaked in sweat, blood, and urine. Despite the filters in his mask, Tim was having a tough time with the stench… and Heaven help him if he had to vomit in a full face mask. The sound of a buzzer cut through the atmosphere. **** Bradley Carrington stepped off the elevator and strode down the hall, his blade encases in an umbrella-like sheath for purposes of obscurity. Apartment 28-A. Buzzer. **** “Batman…” a weak voice coughed. Isaacs was awake. “Help me…” Buzzer. “What’s goin’ on, Jon?” Batman asked, stepping closer. “Some mook… name of Clayface…” Jon coughed. “He tied me up, took my place… get me the hell outta this get-up…” “Sure thing, commish.” Buzzer. “Expecting company, Jon?” “I don’t have time for your jokes now.” “Sorry.” **** Three times and no answer. He’s either very rude, Carrington thought, or not at home. …And there were people in that apartment. Three people, to be specific. It was a little-known side effect to Bradley’s power; he could sense electrical impulses. The currents that run through appliances. Vehicles. A human’s brain. Very handy in battle. And there was always a battle, wasn’t there? A short discharge of bio-electricity through the door’s lock opened the apartment. Carrington was going in. **** What was that? Tim thought. Sounded a bit like the crackle of static electricity. “What are you stopping for? Get me the hell out of this!” “One second, Jonny-boy. I think your host just got back.” Batman gravitated silently to the sound of the shock. “Wait! Come back!” **** Curse the lack of light, Bradley thought, tossing the faux umbrella sheath to the ground. This is no way to go about things… “Mr. Clayface, I presume?” Bradley heard the hiss of a batarang and felt its sharp sting as his sword was knocked from his hand. “Wait, I know you.” Batman said. “Carrington.” “It appears you have me at a disadvantage, Mr. Isaacs.” “Isaacs? Not quite.” Batman hit the lights, blinding Carrington. Beneath his cape, Tim readied a gas grenade. At least he hoped it was a gas grenade. The incident where he once mispacked his belt and tossed a mist pellet instead of a gas grenade sprang to mind… **** The quick change from pitch to brilliance had Carrington dazed, as was obviously the intent. It took but a moment for the retired Leaguer’s eyes to adjust, but when they did… “Batman?” He asked. “What’re you doing here, Carrington? Trying to live up to your old League moniker by doggin’ my tail?” “I was, actually, trying to find you, but…” Glint in the dark. “Watch out!” “What? Whoah!” Tim barely ducked away from the pale glow of an energy blade… a nasty bit of business that would’ve gone through his armor like a hot knife through butter, to hit the standard cliché. A blade in the hands of Jon Isaacs. Quick glance – the bed was empty. The locks on the chains sprung. “Die!” Well he was clumsy, at least, but he could afford to be. Tim couldn’t even take a graze from that blade… and there were very few ways he could knock Isaacs down without taking some piece of that weapon, so his option was to dodge all the livelong day until he could think of something better. Providence came in the form of a jolt of bio-electricity, which stunned the Batman’s attacker. The plasma knife dropped to the floor hitting handle-side-down, a stroke of luck for the folks downstairs. “Don’t move,” Carrington said, holding his blade, still crackling with energy, out before him. I could use that knockout gas now, Tim thought. It’d be the perfect place. …But let’s see how things play out first, shall we? “You are not Jon Isaacs,” the Leaguer continued. “His leg is a sight more lame than yours.” “Well, that’s me – always forgetting one mundane detail…” ‘Isaacs’’ face bubbled and melted into a hideously burned mockery of a visage and then reformed into a replica of Bradley Carrington. “But I get points for effort, no?” “Where is the commissioner?” Batman asked. “That’s for me to know…” the villain coughed seconds before finding himself hoisted in the air. “How like you!” He spat, phlegm spilling from his mouth. “Answer his question,” Carrington added, the electric hum of his sword kicked up a notch. “Put me down. Let me go. Then we’ll talk.” “He’s a comedian,” Batman noted. “No, that’s your other friend… Wight. Now put me down, see, or the commish gets it,” Clayface spat, his face morphing into a stereotypical cinema gangster. “He’s wired.” Batman threw Clayface across the room and raced back into the bedroom. Only one other place to check in the apartment – the closet. Where Jon Isaacs, eyes red from tears and blood looked up at the dark knight, surrounded by a small sea of explosives. “You just armed the bomb, Batman! Brilliant!” The madman coughed from the other room. “Now we all die!” No, no we don’t… Tim thought. “Alfred,” he whispered, pressing a stud in his belt. “Ahoy, Master Tim!” the cheery voice thundered in Tim’s earpiece. “Not now, Alfred. Go online.” Tim held up a small wand – a video relay device – and pointed it at the contraption bound to Isaacs. “See this? Find it. Tell me how to defuse it. Do it now.” “Immediately, sir.” Several long moments. “Hurry up, Alfred…” “Sir, that design does not exist, per se – it is a modification of several different types of explosive device and could be triggered by the wrong defusing procedure…” “Then get busy and calculate it, Alfred, now… this thing doesn’t have a timer and I don’t like sitting on a bomb…” “Working, sir…” **** “I’m insane, you know…” Clayface said. “Do tell,” the Penguin replied, his rapier held steady at the villain. “I wasn’t sure about it, before tonight… I had glimpses of the truth, but lucidity makes for such a compelling argument…” “Be quiet.” **** Back in the other room, Tim was working away under Alfred’s suggestions, with no way of knowing whether or not he was doing any good. Alfred calmly assured him that taking all these steps would minimize the possibility of ‘accelerating the process’ of blowing everything into tiny, tiny pieces. “Batman…” Isaacs whispered weakly. “Don’t worry, Jonny, I’m not going to let another Gotham commissioner down.” “Who are you talking to?” “An expert.” “On what?” “On whatever I need him to be.” “Sounds like he comes in handy.” “More often than not.” Quiet. “Do you even know what you’re doing?” “Learning as I go.” “That makes me nervous.” “I’m a fast learner.” **** “It all started when I was sent for a little plane ride. I went up slow, I came down fast, and there he was with a big smile on his face…” Raving lunatic, Carrington thought. “And he helped me do things. My face could do what I **cough** wanted it to do. But, there’s still a downside to every…” “Clayface, I suggest you silence yourself – unless you choose to come forth with the cessation of the explosives.” “That’s Mister Merani, ‘Penguin.’ And like I told you, I didn’t get that half of the instruction booklet.” **** “Master Tim, I’m not sure if this will work…” “Dammit Alfred, that’s not what I’m looking to hear, here…” “It doesn’t sound like things are going well, Bats?” “Things are going fine, commissioner.” “Believe it or not, I do have a fair bit of experience with bombs…” Isaacs was choking out the words now. “You get a feeling in the pit of your stomach before they go off. It’s not scientific, maybe, but I bet you a million that it’s just as accurate.” “Don’t kid yourself, commish, guys like us don’t ever see a million in any kind of currency.” “Guys like me, maybe. But you, pal, you got more money than you know what to do with…” “Master Tim, you didn’t go and reveal your identity again, did you?” “Shut up, Alfred.” “That’s Jon, Mister Drake. Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on telling anyone.” “What makes you think you’re right, commissioner?” “I’m something of a detective, Bats. Same height, same build, and I gotta give ya credit – you do a pretty good job of mixing up your inflections and body language… but up close… I don’t know. I watched you the last year pretty careful, y’know? Your little speech New Year’s Eve, that clinched things. Can I prove it? No. Do I intend to try? Not if you keep things on the straight and narrow. If we even get out of here…” “Thank you for the faith.” “It’s set in my mind, Bats. And you can count on me to keep quiet – hell, I’m impressed a rich boy like you’d even lift a finger to help anybody ‘sides himself. You have my respect.” “Commissioner, I do believe that’s the most you’ve ever said to me at one time.” **** “You see, there’s a thing about the insane, my dear Penguin…” Clayface reached behind his back. “Even a Leaguer – pardon, retired Leaguer – can have his nerves of steel shattered by the ravings of a madman. I’m positive this is the case.” “Are you, now.” “And how. What, you can’t see your sword quivering? But I’m being unfair… maybe it’s old age. You’re pushing – what – seventy or more? Bet the Ambrosia helps. Oh, sorry. Poor little Leaguers only get the generic brand. What was it called? Can’t remember. Do remember the article on all it’s cheap side effects…” FSZHAAAK! Every man has his breaking point, and Clayface had just found Bradley Carrington’s. In the old days, the Leaguer called Penguin would have still been standing there, a rock, oblivious to distraction. But age did play cruel tricks on a man. “Thank you,” Clayface shouted. The blast had, of course, missed him… Carrington wasn’t a murderer. Clayface knew that – the Penguin had been a prominent figure on the Gotham scene for a good while before his retirement… and Clayface remembered the reputation. Played it against him. And maneuvered his way to a certain place in Isaac’s apartment… it pays to think ahead. “Thank you for being predictable, Leaguer. Still have to recharge between blasts, don’t we?” Clayface grabbed a secreted pistol and fired. **** “Sir, I think this could very well be what we’re looking for,” Alfred relayed. “That small port has come up in schematic after schematic in a variety of ways.” “So that’s the one?” “No sir, I believe it to be a decoy.” “Decoy.” “Yes. Thinking like a lunatic, sir. A person with a good deal of experience in explosives would have caught this pattern early and gone for it. A perfect decoy.” “And you’re saying not to.” “Bats,” Isaacs piped up. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but this one-sided conversation of yours is kind of disturbing.” “Sorry, commish. Can’t be helped. What do I do here, Alfred?” “There’s a port eight inches below it; three black wires plugged in. Everything I’ve seen has made this taboo, sir, but…” “Instruction, Alfred, not exposition.” “Remove the outer two wires, strip them, twist them together, and quick as you can, replace the middle wire with this amalgamation.” “Are you sure?” “Master Tim, I’m as sure as I can possibly be under the circumstances.” “Alfred…” “JUST HURRY!” Isaacs yelled. **** Bradley Carrington had been shot. Shot in the shoulder, separated from his blade, with Clayface standing above him. “So sorry, old man. Hate to cut and run, but you know how these things are. And just because I can’t stand lying to people… I’m not crazy. Be seeing you.” “No,” Carrington said, grabbing the villain’s leg. “Not if I can help it.” Thousands of volts of electricity flowed through the Penguin’s skin, stunning Clayface into unconsciousness, his face contorting like… well, a mass of animated clay. “I need the sword to focus, my friend. Keep a leash on my power. To direct it, control it… keep from burning people to a crisp…” Clayface screamed. “But with age comes control,” the Penguin added, easing off the voltage as Clayface collapsed. “And that control enables me to spare your life, madman.” “Well bravo, Mr. Carrington!” Batman piped up from the rear, propping Jon Isaacs up. “Still got it.” Penguin smiled. “Believe me, I remember.” “Wait,” Isaacs said. “Let me go.” “Are you sure, you’re…” “I’ve been waiting to do something for a very long time.” And with that, Jon Isaacs slowly, painfully, limped his way over to the barely conscious Clayface. “I’m supposed to be better than you, right?” Isaacs asked. “Protect and serve. But if you’ll recall, I made you a promise… a very sacred promise…” Jon kicked his tormentor. Once. “And you’re gonna live to see it kept.” **** Later, in the Batcave, Tim released his tension via a few rounds with his sparring droid. Alfred’s tentacles snaked forth with a pitcher of water. “Do you think Mr. Isaacs truly knows?” “No Alfred, I don’t. I got the feeling he was clutching at straws, still… you never can tell.” “You always said he was smarter than he let on.” “He is at that.” Tim paused. “Alfred, I think I need a vacation.” “Sir?” “A little business trip. London, I think.” “The arrangements will be ready momentarily, Master Tim, but… why London?” “Tell me, Alfred… have you ever heard of Hemlock Jones?” **** END **** NEXT ISSUE: Kent! **** GOING BATTY **** Well, no letters for the last issue… maybe this one will get me something. Next issue will, for sure – listen up, peeps: IT’S THE LONG AWAITED RETURN OF CLARK KENT!!!! And as far as Tim’s little jaunt to London proper, you can check that action out very soon. Where and when? It’s a surprise, baby – but one I think you’re gonna like. Until next time! -Erik Visit Gotham: http://members.tripod.com/dcfbatman Visit the DCF Message Board: http://216.35.120.23/Indices/6074.html