DCU Justice League #8 The Man Who Had Everything

The Bank of Gotham building, Park Row. After the Great Depression, it was one of many branches to fall into disrepair. Decades later, it’s the site of a coin counterfeiting operation, one he'd been tracking for months. Nothing much is known about the leader, only his self-imposed title. The Penny Plunderer, the last remnant of Kuttler's network. There was always someone who'd slip through the cracks, wasn't there?

Bruce had told Jason he could go this alone. The boy needed to stay focused on his grades at the moment, which were slipping. He's much more reckless than Dick ever was, both Alfred and Bruce saw that.

 

Bruce sat atop the roof, surveying the room. Six targets, two armed. In the center of the room stood what must have been the ringleader, clad in a green suit. Bruce was ready for an introduction.

 

Leaping into the air, his feet smashed through the building's skylight, the glass stopping them from being able to look up. Bruce lands on his feet, the fall broken with his cape. His eyes lock onto the first gunman, already spraying bullets. After rolling towards him, Bruce deals him a kick to the shins. The second tries his luck, but a batarang flies into the muzzle, jamming the gun. By the time he deals with the remaining four men, the Plunderer is halfway down the fire escape.

 

'He's faster than he looks,' notes Bruce in his mind, watching the man make his way towards the Monarch Theater. Bruce bursts through the back door, dashing past horrified civilians. 'I need to secure the crime scene for Gordon's men, but I can't let him get away. I can't let him-'

 

"Bruce?"

 

Bruce's feet plant onto the ground as he hears the familiar voice call out. His head turns to the origin… to see his mother. He looks around, realizing his location.

 

Crime Alley. He brought him to Crime Alley.

 

'Crane…' Bruce deduces to himself. He swiftly reaches to the back of his utility belt, pulling out the vial of his fear-toxin antidote. After taking the serum, he turns to chase.

 

"Bruce, did you enjoy the movie?" His mother asks, causing his eyes to narrow.

 

'The toxin's effects should have worn off by now…'

 

"I would certainly hope so, Martha." Responds his father with a slight chuckle. He then turned his attention to Bruce. "He's only been begging for weeks…" His father's tone taking on a hint of irritation.

 

'This is perverted. Bruce thought to himself, staring at his parents. 'If not Crane, this is the work of another psychopath, Tetch, perhaps.' Bruce turns from his parents, already seeing the man walking towards them. 'Whoever they are, I won’t let them manipulate me, manipulate my memories. Not again.

 

"Hands up! I want wallets, cash. Put ‘em on the ground. And I’ll take those pearls too, lady." The man's hand visibly shook holding the gun. His free hand was held outwards to grab the pearls around Martha's neck.

 

“Do you think this frightens me? Do you think you can trick me, or haunt me? I’ve seen this nightmare every time I’ve fought Scarecrow! I hear my mother’s scream every time I close my eyes! Sometimes… Sometimes I’ll be washing my hands, and I won’t stop, because deep down, I’m still trying to wash off my parent’s blood. The simple truth is, they’ll never be clean, and I, I will never be free. So whatever twisted game you thought you had planned? It ends now. It ends tonight. I’m not afraid of you, and I’m not afraid of ghosts.”

 

Bruce reaches into his belt, pulling out a batarang. Raising his arm, he takes aim at the mugger and-

 

THUD

 

The batarang falls from Bruce's hand, making a clang sound as it hits the concrete. His eyes widen as he watches his father tackle the mugger.

 

-~-~-

 

Screams. That was the first thing Clark could hear upon arriving in Gotham. The city looked brutal from above. The world was in a global epidemic, and Gotham's underworld took the message loud and clear.

 

Open for Business.

 

He was currently flying through the air, looking for any signs of Bruce. The White Martians were playing on nightmarish memories, and boy did Bruce probably have a box set of those.

 

'He isn't at the Batcave, nor Wayne Enterprises… so where-' While lost in thought, Clark nearly crashes into an incoming hang glider. He narrowly dodges it, not used to sharing the airspace. As he flew past, he heard a faint, "Hell Yeah!" 'Must've been a thrill seeker.' Clark thinks to himself, shaking his head.

 

Suddenly a shriek catches his ear. A little girl. Turning his head towards the noise, he uses his x-ray vision to locate the victim.

 

Springer Apartment Complex, fourth floor. There was one man, a knife in hand, and a hostage. He couldn't just stand idle and let it happen, he needed to act.

 

He quickly shot through the window, hitting the attacker with enough force to knock him into the wall. He falls to the ground with a thud. Clark's eyes widen as a smell enters his nostrils.

 

Blood.

 

He turns his head, looking towards the girl. Taking a step forward, she skooches back a bit. Clark takes a knee, gently holding his hand out to her. "It's alright." He promises, a smile donning his face. The girl, no older than fifteen, hesitates. While staying in the position, he kept the smile on his face. She eventually reached out, placing her shaky hand atop his firm one.

 

"You, good sir, have just ruined my supper!" The voice behind him shrieked. It sent a chill down his spine, the victim falling into his chest trembling.

 

The attacker was bald, save for a few tufts of orange hair. His eyes bulged from their sockets and his teeth glowed a disturbing, stained yellow in the moonlight.

 

Clark ignores the man, hugging the girl closer, whispering calming words to her. He floats his body out of the window he broke through and up to the building's roof. Placing her on the surface, he assures her he'd return momentarily. He returns inside, staring at the attacker.

 

Quickly wrapping chains around him, hoping it would hold, he turns his head towards the smell once more. "Manners cost nothing, Superman."

 

"Quiet." He replies, stepping towards the smell. He approaches the kitchen seeing a saucepan on the stove's front right burner. Taking a closer look, his eyes widened.

 

Body parts.

 

"Y-your… supper?"

 

The man lets out a small chuckle. "I find a good human heart to be just the thing I need before I go to bed," he explains, his eyes twitching, his tongue swirling around his mouth. "Cornelius Stirk. Batman must have mentioned me."

 

Clark shakes his head. "Never."

 

"Then you won't know about my gift! The heart, not only being an excellent source of protein, also augments my Metahuman powers. You see, sir, I can trick lesser minds into coming here willingly, by projecting an image of who they trust most. That girl? She trusted you, a lot! After tonight... I don't think she'll trust you ever again!"

 

Clark felt guiltiness enter him for a moment, before turning to leave. "You're… that's… disgusting."

 

"Hmph, I think it's delicious."

 

Clark leaves the area, holding the girl and making a detour for the GCPD. Placing her outside, he tells the officer a quick rundown before turning to leave. He spots Gordon inside, the two exchanging a nod. A silent message translated.

 

"Find him, for me".

 

As Clark takes off, landing in another street, he still sees the images of Stirk's abattoir. The fear in the child's eyes. He understood. He understood why Gotham needed Batman… now, more than ever. Alas, he does his best to stop the rioting.

 

A lot of them are dressed in various costumes, Bruce's rogues gallery hosting quite the range. 'Bizzare…' Is Clark's only thought looking at the group. A bald man was hurling eggs at a storefront, dressed in a pristine white suit. Another, sporting a bright pink wig, was exiting a candy store, his shirt tucking over dozens of chocolates.

 

"That's enough." His voice booms with a commanding, yet calm tone. All of the rioters take a single look at him, dashing away and dispersing into alleyways.

 

'Bruce is somewhere… but where?'

 

His thoughts are answered as a thin man in a green suit comes stumbling out of an alleyway. He was screaming in-between his deep huffs of air. "The Bat's gone nuts! He's gone nuts!"

 

"Found you."

 

-~-~-

 

The Monarch Theater. He was eight years old again. His father had finally relinquished, taking the boy to see "The Mark of Zorro," a film both of his parents had grown up on. It was a perfect night, up until they exited the building. They were stopped, in the chill of the night, by a mugger. The man held them at gunpoint in the alley, demanding his mother's pearl necklace. His father tried to diligently reason with him, but his patience only ran so thin.

 

A hour later, the man was lying beaten on the ground. His father was wiping the blood from his knuckles as he answered the questions asked by the cops. His mother held him from behind, gently wrapping her arms around him and swaying side to side. The man in the young body gripped his mother's hand tightly.

 

He saw it. He saw his future, running his father's company. He saw himself meeting a beautiful woman. Falling in love. Getting married. Having children of his own. He saw happiness, for the first time in a long time.

 

'I'm going to be happy.'

 

His mother, who was gently stroking his head suddenly stopped. He turned his head, looking at her sadly smiling at him. She then began to fade away, electing Bruce to reach out to her.

 

"Bruce…"

 

Turning, he spots Superman, looking down to him. The young Bruce tilts his head to the side, in an inquisitive manner. "Wh-what? Clark?"

 

Clark watches the boy, his eyes boring into him. "It isn't real." The boy's face drops, his head facing downward. Like a glitch in a system, his body starts to distort.

 

"B-but…"

 

Clark places a hand on his shoulder. "Bruce, you know it isn't real."

 

The glitching stopped. In front of Clark now stood a man in a grey suit, a long black cape strapped over his shoulders. His head was adorned with a bat-shaped cowl. "I know. I…" Bruce's fist clenched as he closed his eyes. "I just… wanted to pretend. Even if it was only for a little while."

 

Clark simply nodded. He knew what it was like. To wonder about the life he never had. The life where Krypton was never destroyed. The life growing up with Jor-El, and Lara, playing fetch with Krypto, sneaking out with Kara to play games. It was something he'd dream about, but it wasn't a dream he wanted to obtain. He was living his dream. Meeting Lois, and Lana. Pete and Jimmy. Being raised by Ma and Pa. If Krypton hadn't been destroyed he wouldn't have met those wonderful people. He wouldn't have fallen in love, and he wouldn't have Jon.

 

"You can honour your parents, honour all of them, the same way you always have. By fighting. Fighting with everything that you’ve got, just like always. That’s what makes you special, that’s why they came after you, because you’ve never given up. Not against Blackfire, not against Scarecrow, and certainly not from us damn aliens"

 

Bruce lets off a smirk. "Of course not." Bruce lifts himself to a stand, Clark's hand grasped tightly. "Thank you." Whatever the nightmare was, he was glad. Glad that Clark was there to help him. He'd never admit it to him, but he wouldn't have anyone else at his side.

 

'J'onn, you can add Bruce to the link and pull us out.'

 

'I am sorry Superman, but I do not have the ability to pull you out of the mind. The psychosis state should destabilize itself.'

 

'Then what's-'

 

BANG

 

Clark stumbled back as the gunshot rang throughout the alleyway. His hand moved to his stomach, where a striking pain had hit. His fingers were warm. Moving them to his eye level, he saw blood. "That's… that's not good."

 

'Superman, in the psychosis state, the failsafe will have a direct means of harming you. You must take precautions.'

 

"That means that everything thrown at me is gonna be Kryptonite." He looks to Bruce, staring at the wound. He had gotten a little too used to being bulletproof. "In the real world, that would've cost me."

 

"Leaving? Oh, so soon? He. He. He."

 

The voice sent chills down Clark's spine. It was so gleeful, but so… unnerving at the same time. "That… that laugh? Is that Joker?"

 

Bruce's eyes were wide, his body stiff. "No," he spoke, his voice barely breaking a whisper. "Not Joker."

 

"Clearly someone lied about their resume… 'Faster than a speeding bullet?' my ass." The figure ginned as he chuckled, walking forward. His yellow, horrendous teeth were now exposed.

 

'It has to be him, there isn't anyone else it could be.' Clark thought to himself. Turning to Bruce. "Bruce, if not Joker… who is he?"

 

Clark watched as Bruce turned his head. Through the open mouth, he saw his friend's face pale, all the color being drained. "M-me. It's me."

 

"Say, when I'm done here, how about we visit your friends in the GCPD, and relieve them of duty? With all the outsourcing Gordon does, he's clearly not up to the task! I'm telling you, maybe the old guard had the right idea, bribes, bribes, bribes. With your checkbook, we could solve all crime in the city! And the ones that don't play ball? Well, we *did* need to recalibrate the Batwing's targeting software, didn't we? The ward can stay, mind. Every clown needs a harlequin."

 

The creature had Bruce's face, but his grin, his twisted sense of humour. Ever since Bruce first met Joker, this was what frightened him most.

 

What if all my fears, all my paranoia and anger drove me to become the very monsters I've been fighting since I was eight? There was nothing. No contingency I'd prepared that could possibly stop me. Alfred, Jim, Lucius, Dick, Jason, Barbara… all of them… targets. None of them… safe.

 

"Bruce, you aren't him! Understand? Clark yelled out as he swung at the fake Batman. He simply laughed, showing a glowing green knife into Clark's gut.

 

"All that Kryptonite… knew it'd come in handy one of these days. And to think, I stockpiled it in case you went rogue!" The laughter, filled with pure and unbridled malice consuming the alley.

 

"I don't… I don't know what created the Joker, Bruce…" Spoke Clark, kneeling with the knife still in his gut. He coughed up blood before speaking again. "Maybe he was always evil. Maybe he thinks what he's doing is right. It could've all happened with one bad day… I don't know."

 

The Laughing Batman kicked him in the head, sending him flat onto his back. Clark wheezed in pain, before looking at Bruce.

 

"But I do know… know you. You're strong. Stronger than… than you even know. You live with this… This burden everyday. Living with the burden so you can make sure others don't have to."

 

The Laughing Batman stepped down hard into the knife, digging it ever so deeper into Clark's abdomen. Clark bit his lip to suppress the cry of pain.

 

"That's… that's what makes you different. It's what separates you two. He let… the world break him. But you? You… you never will."

 

Bruce felt a single tear exit his eye. "That's all I needed to hear."

 

"You're right, Clark. You don't know. No one does. The Joker lives off pain, and death, but above all, he thrives on mystery. That's what terrifies Gotham, that's what terrifies me. He's an unpredictable, unrelenting psychopath. I can't predict him," Bruce begins to march forward, a batarang in his hand. "But I can predict me." The Laughing Batman pulls the knife out of Clark's abdomen, aiming it toward Bruce.

 

'The newest batsuit has five main weak points. I sacrificed armour in favour of flexibility.'

 

He goes for the arm tendons first, lacerating them and causing him to drop the kryptonite blade. Bruce quickly scoops it up, dropping it in a lead lined pouch. Clark would be regaining his strength soon now. Bruce then went for the knees, leaving two deep stab winds at the joints. Finally, the last weak point is the mouth.

 

Bruce swings, as hard as he can. The Laughing Bat's teeth shatter on impact, causing him to fall backwards.

 

"You're nothing!" It rasps through broken teeth. "Jusssssstice? The laaaaaw? Haha! You're just a bad joke! And you're just delaying the inevitable!"

 

"No. No! I am Vengeance. I am the Night. And above all-" Bruce yells, with a punch that cracks the fake's cowl apart. "I. Am. Batman!"

 

A sudden explosion of a blinding, stark white light occurs. Everything around Bruce fades away, an abyss of darkness being his only surrounding. He looks down to his hands, noticing them begin to fade.

 

"Even if it was my dream… everything I thought I ever wanted." He looks back to the ground, a tall shadow in the shape of a bat under his legs. "I wouldn't give this up. Never in a million years."

 

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Make sure you're following King Clown for the final two issues of Justice League, coming soon!

Done